Into the Darkness
by charlie009d
Summary: He was falling, falling into the darkness. When Robin goes missing, the Teen Titans and the Justice League team up to save him. But will they find him before they lose him to Slade forever?
1. Bad Beginning

_Hello! Okay, so first I gotta say that I am not charlie009d...I am her Typing Monkey. I type most of her stories, as she does not have a computer. Now that I got that over with, I'll explain more about the story. One: this takes place after Trouble in Tokyo, and it's a sort of another apprentice story. Two: there is a teensy bit of RobStar. And I think that's it. For now._

* * *

_Dear Master Robin,_

_I know it has been sometime since we last talked, but I would like to ask if you would join us for Christmas dinner at the manor and possibly stay until New Year's. Or, in the very least, stay until Christmas is over._

_Now I know you and Master Batman have yet to settle your differences, but it would be nice to see you again. Also I would like to point out that he could have gone to Jump City and drug your "sorry buttocks" back to Gotham at any time, yet he didn't. So, to some degree, he respects your independence._

_Some of the League will be attending our dinner. In fact, the whole dinner was Masters Flash and Kid Flash's idea._

_All I ask of you is to attend this one dinner. He misses you, he truly does. Just yesterday I found him in your room looking through your photo album._

_Please let me know if you will be attending, and remember this is a surprise for him. If you do choose to attend, there is a ticket to Gotham reserved under your last name waiting at the Jump City airport._

_With best wishes and intentions,_

_Agent A_

Robin laughed to himself because he knew how much Bruce _loved _surprises. He didn't know if he was ready to confront his adoptive father yet though. The last time they had talked, Robin had told Bruce he hated him for trying to control his life. It had been true at the time, but he deeply regretted his harsh words. Bruce had been trying to protect him. And he had blown his top and told Batman, the _Batman, _to take a hike.

He had just received Alfred's e-mail. The old butler was trying to guilt him into spending his Christmas at Wayne Manor. Christmas was just a day away. Robin smiled at how clever Alfred really was. He missed his old friend. He missed Bruce too, though he'd never admit it. He idly wondered what members of the League would be attending the dinner, but in the end it didn't matter. It would be nice to see any one of them.

Robin sat down at his desk and pressed the reply button on his e-mail.

_Dear Agent A,_

_Holy short notice! You're lucky the Titans and I have no Christmas plans other than hanging around. I can't believe KF put you up to this. And don't even try to defend him by saying it was the Flash too, I know it was all him. Anyway, I'm going to take the next flight out of Jump and hopefully I'll make it home by dinnertime tomorrow._

_See ya then,_

_Rob_

Robin shut down his computer. The rest of his team was doing last minute shopping. Luckily he had bought their gifts the previous month. He pulled the neatly wrapped packages out of his closet along with a backpack, a spare uniform, and two sets of clothing. He quickly undressed and put on a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. Lastly, he peeled off his mask to reveal sapphire blue eyes.

He was no longer Robin the Boy Wonder, protégé of Batman. He was Dick Grayson, son of the late Mary and John Grayson, and adopted ward of Bruce Wayne. It was nice to let all the stress of being Robin go, at least for a little while.

He packed his spare uniform and his extra pair of clothes into his backpack. He pulled his wallet and ID out from under his mattress and threw them in the backpack as well. He again sat down at his desk. Opening his top drawer, he slipped out a fresh mask and his communicator. He put them in his back pocket and picked up a pen and paper to leave a note for his team.

_I'm going to Gotham to be with my family over Christmas. Sorry about the short notice, even I didn't know until now. I will be back after New Year's. DO NOT open your presents until Christmas Day. That means you, Beast Boy._

_-Robin_

Dick snatched the presents off his bed and left his room. When he arrived in the living room he arranged them around the tree and placed the note beside the TV remote to make sure it would be found. Casting one last glance at the empty living room, Dick left the Tower.

* * *

The coffee shop was practically empty. An elderly couple sat at a window seat, drinking coffee and eating blueberry muffins. A man sat alone in the back of the shop engrossed in his laptop. The teenage girl at the counter looked bored out of her mind. When Dick walked in, the girl's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I'm Annabel," she gushed. "And you are?"

"Dating someone." Dick hesitated, "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm Richard."

"Oh, a gentleman!" Annabel exclaimed. "Your girl must be lucky."

"I like to think she is," he laughed.

He suddenly felt guilty about leaving Starfire without saying goodbye. She would be so disappointed that she couldn't give him her gift on Christmas. He sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to see her face when she opened her present from him. He shivered, suddenly feeling like he was being watched. He looked behind him to see the old couple had left, but no one was watching him. The man with the laptop was still engrossed in his work.

"I'm so sorry," Annabel blabbed. "Sometimes I speak before I think. It's just when I see a guy with blue eyes, I can't resist. Although, I've never seen Robin's eyes, but I still find him quite attractive."

He couldn't resist. "You know what I think?"

She put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward as if she couldn't hear him clearly. "What?"

"I don't think he has eyes under his mask."

Annabel giggled. "What can I get you?"

"A small black coffee, please." He looked around. "Do you have a restroom?"

"In the back, to the left."

Dick put down the money for his coffee and moved to the back of the store. The man with the laptop didn't even look up as he passed. He turned left and entered the men's room, locking the door behind him. He pulled out his mask and comm link out of his pocket. He put his mask on and phoned his team. After a few seconds, Beast Boy's face appeared on the screen.

"Yo, dude, what's up?"

"Where's Starfire?"

Beast Boy blushed. "She and Raven are in Build-A-Bra."

Robin sighed. "Where's Cy?"

"Uh…he's in there too."

"Go get them."

"But, dude!"

"Now."

The screen shifted and Robin could see the dirty pink carpet of Build-A-Bra. He could hear Beast Boy grumbling and Starfire giggling in the background. The screen again shifted and he swore that for a split second, he saw Cyborg holding up a green frilly bra. The screen finally settled on a frame of the team smiling at him.

"Hello, boyfriend Robin," Starfire greeted.

"Hey, Star," he replied awkwardly.

"What is wrong?"

"I'm leaving." He said bluntly. Noticing the expression on her face, he was quick to explain. "I'm staying with some family in Gotham over the holidays. I'll be back in about a week."

"You will not be joining us for the opening of the presents?"

"I'm sorry, Starfire. I put the presents from me under the tree, don't let Beast Boy get into them. I've got to go. Don't call unless it's an emergency."

With that, he ended the call.

He removed his mask, placing it and his communicator back in his pocket. He pushed the door open and was surprised to find that the man with the laptop had left. His coffee sat on the counter and Annabel was jabbering on the phone. Dick wished her a merry Christmas and left.

Dick wrapped his jacket tightly around himself. The sun was shining, but the air was cold. He held onto his coffee like it was his lifeline. It warmed his hands and the steam from it curved into the air like a snake. Taking a deep drink, he groaned and clutched his stomach. An ulcer was forming. He put too much pressure on himself for a boy of his age. He was responsible for a whole city.

He again felt as if he were being watched. Peering over his shoulder, he saw no one but people finishing their holiday shopping. He dropped his unfinished coffee in a trash can outside of the airport and walked in to be greeted with hundreds of people rushing to get on their planes. The noise was that of a wild animal that hadn't been fed in days. He meekly took his place at the end of the service line and as soon as he was in line, about fifty people lined up behind him.

The woman standing in front of Dick was juggling a newborn, a toddler, and a pair of twins. The twins ran in circles around their mother and shouted about some toy the other stole. Dick laughed to himself. The little boys reminded him of Beast Boy and Cyborg fighting over the game station controller.

The man that stood behind him gave him the willies. He was tall and had white-blond hair. He wore a black suit that was as dark as the night. He was so tall that he towered over Dick like a tree. What scared him through was not the man's size, but the black eyepatch that covered his right eye. He couldn't pinpoint it, but he could've sworn he knew him from somewhere.

"Excuse me, sir," Dick said politely. "Were you in the Ninth Street coffee shop about twenty minutes ago?"

The man thought for a moment. "Why, yes, I was doing some work on my laptop," he said, gesturing to the laptop case by his side.

The man's voice was smooth. It could make women melt like butter on a hot skillet. His words wound their way around Dick, squeezing him slowly like a deadly snake. He was probably a master negotiator, but Dick saw through his smooth talking. The man was pure evil. He had always learned never to judge a book by its cover, but he knew deep down that the man with the eyepatch was dark.

"Are you alone?" the man asked.

"No," Dick lied casually, "I'm here with my father." He pointed to a fair skinned man staring out the window. The man had black hair and green eyes. He was lost deep in thought. He actually looked very similar to Dick and could easily pass for his father. The man with the eye patch waved him down and told him Dick was a good kid. The man looked weirded out and walked away. Dick swore under his breath.

"I know you're Wayne's kid," the man said. "I do business with him."

"Oh," Dick said, relaxing slightly, "It's nice to meet you…"

"Mr. Wilson," he filled in. "And you are Richard Grayson."

"Dick, please," he said nervously.

"Next," the woman at the desk called.

Dick spoke to the woman, showed her his ID, and got his ticket. He held his breath as the men with the metals detectors waved their wands over him. His utility belt was made of a metal that couldn't be detected, but he still feared they would look in his bag and see his uniform. He already had a story ready. He was a nerd on his way to a LARP fest, and he had made the costume himself.

The men waved him through without looking in his bag and he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't get the image of Mr. Wilson out of his mind. The man gave him the creeps. Dick stepped onto the plane and found a window seat. Sitting down, he placed his forehead on the cool glass and shut his eyes. He would be in Gotham with his family soon. A tap on the shoulder caused him to jump slightly. Mr. Wilson stood over him and gestured to the empty seat beside him.

"The plane is full," he said. "May I sit next to you?"

"Sure," Dick said, not making eye contact.

"Are you going to Gotham as well?"

"Yeah, I've been attending a boarding school in Jump and Bruce could only get me a ticket back to Gotham on Christmas Eve," he lied. "Why are you going?"

"I have some…" Mr. Wilson paused, searching for the right words, "…_personal matters _to take care of."

Dick didn't know what his "personal matters" were and he didn't want to know. Once again resting his head against the window, he allowed himself to drift to sleep. He wasn't afraid that Mr. Wilson would try anything, the plane was much too full. He dreamed he was at the pizza parlor laughing about a joke he had already forgotten. Starfire was holding his hand and every once in a while, asking the meaning of one of the terrible jokes Beast Boy was telling.

He felt so happy just being around his friends. Speedy and Kid Flash were suddenly seated at the table laughing along with them. The pizza they ate was a supreme, his favorite. Beast Boy didn't complain about the meat and Cyborg didn't complain about the vegetables.

It was too good to last. The world turned black and he heard his friends scream. When light returned, all of his friends were bound and gagged. A small gun was in his hand, he held it away from his body as if he were afraid it was going to bite him. A hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up to see Slade towering over him. He guided Robin's arm to take aim at the middle of Speedy's forehead. Slade let go and ever so slowly, Robin began to pull back the trigger without persuasion.

Dick woke with a start. His heart was racing and he was drenched in a cold sweat. He placed his head in his hands, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. He tried to push the image of willingly killing his friends from his mind. He would _never_ hurt his friends. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and he slapped it away, still thinking about Slade. Seeing it was only Mr. Wilson, he apologized and turned away, embarrassed by his actions.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Wilson asked, genuine concern laced through his voice.

"Yeah," Dick panted, "Just a nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I want to forget it."

Mr. Wilson went back to looking through his files. Dick looked out the window, snow covered the ground like a blanket. He sighed and mist covered the window. He sat back in his seat and watched the television, which was broadcasting the evening Gotham news. It was peaceful in the normally busy city, no bank robberies or murders. Dick imagined Bruce was thankful.

"By the way," Mr. Wilson said, not looking up, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Dick muttered back. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "About 4:00, we'll be in Gotham soon."

Dick nodded his thanks and went back to watching the news. The lady on the screen warned them of icy roads and falling snow. He was beginning to regret not packing his iPod. Or in the very least, a book. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and focused on the fact that he would be seeing his family soon. His mouth watered at just the thought of Alfred's glazed ham.

A pleasant female voice came over the loudspeaker and asked that everyone put on their seatbelts, they were going to land soon. Dick clicked his belt into place and felt the plane shift downwards. The bump of the wheels meeting the ground caused him to jump in his seat. He laughed at himself and grabbed his backpack as everyone was exiting the plane.

The Gotham airport was just as busy as Jump. Dick made his way to a counter and bought himself a protein bar and a bottle of water. He greedily ate the bar and gulped down the water. His stomach was in pure agony, he felt like he had swallowed a lit match. He bought himself a packet of Aleve and took it dry, for he had already drank all his water.

Gotham was even colder than Jump, Alfred would be on his case about not wearing a proper coat as soon as he arrived at the manor. The cold air nipped his nose, turning it a bright red. His eyes watered and he tucked his freezing hands deep into his pockets trying to find some warmth. His breath appeared in the air before him like smoke from a cigarette.

"Do you need a ride?"

Dick jumped when a smooth voice penetrated his thoughts. He turned to see Mr. Wilson standing behind him. Why wouldn't the man leave him alone? All he wanted was to get away from the man with the eyepatch. Mr. Wilson had a deep darkness about him that made Dick want to run like a child frightened by a clown. He squinted up at the man.

"Huh?"

"Do you need a ride?" Mr. Wilson repeated. "My car is just around the corner."

"No thank you," Dick said politely. "I can walk from here, it's not very far."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself,"

Dick breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Wilson walked away, he hoped that the strange man was out of his life forever. He couldn't stand the thought of being alone in a car with him, filled with awkward silence so thick a knife could be taken to it. Wayne Manor was actually quite far away, too far for him to walk in the cold. Hailing a cab, he climbed into the back and told the driver his destination, who in turn greedily looked him up and down most likely hoping for a good tip. They made small talk about the weather and Christmas plans, nothing important.

It happened at a stop light.

Dick was seated in the back of the cab behind the passenger's seat. The driver was in his early thirties, he had olive tanned skin and dark hair. One thing he noticed about the man was that he never stopped talking. Gazing out the window at the passersby Dick noticed a black SUV barreling toward them. Before he could warn the driver about the threat that was quickly coming at them, the other car plowed into the passenger's side of the cab. Dick felt like a rag doll as his body was pitched around the inside of the cab. Something heavy hit his upper body, a scream of pain escaped his lips and the wind was knocked out of him. The seatbelt pulled his body back onto the seat and his head bounced against the window. The last thing he was aware of was the sickening squish of blood.

And then the world slipped away from him.

* * *

_I hope you like it so far! Please review!_


	2. The Dinner

_Sorry for the delay in updating, but I'm lazy. I was gonna update yesterday, but I was freaking out about yesterday's Young Justice and Legend of Korra until noon. And then I had an X-Files marathon. Anyway, I hate to disappoint you guys, but there's no Dick angst in this chapter...but I promise it'll be in the next chapter. So instead you get an awkward Christmas dinner at Wayne Manor...and yes, I'm totally serious._

* * *

Clark Kent stood on the front step of Wayne Manor fumbling with his dress tie. He couldn't figure out how to tie the stupid thing! Kryptonite was not his weakness, ties were. If Lex Luthor were to pull one on him he would probably drop dead on the spot. A small smile formed on his face at the thought of dying to a tie. When he finally got it in a perfect bow, he felt like he should have been doing a touchdown dance.

He had been quite surprised when he received an invitation to the Wayne Manor Christmas dinner and he almost hadn't come for he already had arranged plans with Lois. But his mind changed when he learned that Dick would be attending the dinner. He was fond of the young boy and had been extremely disappointed when he left without as much as a goodbye. Lois hadn't been happy at all when he called for a rain check, but she said he could go after he explained he was going to see family that he hadn't seen in a long time.

He was glad they were having a surprise dinner for Bruce. The man needed something to cheer him up, but he also knew he wouldn't be happy about the surprise part. Alfred and Dick were probably the only people who could pull a fast one over on Bruce, well other than the Flash who could literally pull a fast one on him.

* * *

Bruce was sitting in his study, reading the newspaper, when the doorbell rang. He thought nothing of it, Alfred would get it and send whoever it was away. He stared at the wrapped present that sat on his desk. It as a bird-a-rang he had designed himself. It flew back after it was thrown. He planned to give it to Dick, but knew that it wouldn't happen anytime soon.

The doorbell rang again.

"Alfred," Bruce called, "Are you going to get that!"

"My tie is caught in the sink!"

He thought for a moment. "But you wear a bowtie."

"I got too close to the garbage disposal."

Bruce rolled his eyes and stood up. He brushed out the nonexistent wrinkles on his shirt and descended the staircase. He was a little more than surprised when he found Superman at his door. He ushered him in and complimented him on his appearance, assuming Lois tied his tie. He led him into the sitting room and was even more surprised to see Barry Allen and Wally West lounging on his sofas.

"When did you get here?" he asked.

"We ran in when you opened the door for Supes," Wally said nonchalantly. "Where's the food?"

Bruce closed his eyes and willed them to go away. But when he opened his eyes, they were still there. They were like pesky bugs buzzing around his head. True, they were his friends, but he often thought of himself as a Christmas Scrooge. At least since Dick left. He shook the depressing thoughts from his mind and smiled at his guests, which scared the speedsters.

Alfred walked into the room with a large tray of food balanced in one hand and a tray of beverages in the other. Bruce took notice that his bowtie was perfectly fine. Of course it was, he knew that the older man had been bluffing, but he knew his motive. Alfred placed the tray in front of the Flashes and they ate every crumb in a nanosecond. He smiled at Bruce.

"I must have forgotten to tell you about the Christmas dinner I had planned," the Englishman said with a genuine smiled.

"Yeah, you must've," Bruce grumbled. "Alfred, look, this is nice and all, but I just want to be alone."

The doorbell rang.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, "Would you mind getting that? I have to finish setting the table."

Without waiting for an answer, Alfred disappeared into the dining room. Bruce walked into the main hall, prepared to tell whoever it was that the dinner was off. He opened the door to see a beautiful woman with long black hair and bright blue eyes standing in his doorway. She wore a black dress that complimented her figure well and tall black high heels.

"Diana," Bruce breathed. "You look great."

"Thank you," Diana Prince replied. "Are you going to invite me to come in from the cold?"

"Won't you come in?"

Diana stepped through the doorway and gave Bruce a quick kiss on the cheek. Blood rushed to his face, causing him to be as red as a cherry. Diana wondered into the sitting room and began to converse with Clark. Before Bruce could even leave the main hall, the doorbell rang again. Sighing, he answered it to find Dinah Lance and Roy Harper awkwardly explaining that Ollie couldn't make it.

Wally spotted Roy and tackled him at full speed. They went sprawling onto the floor, both of them laughing. They picked themselves up and walked into the sitting room where the adults were talking. Wally began to tease Roy about coming with his "Mom", but was stopped by a whack to the back of the head from Dinah. The two boys moved to the back of the room and spoke in hushed tones.

"Is Dick here yet?" Roy asked.

"No," Wally replied, "he's late."

Alfred came in a few minutes later and led them all to the dining room where he seated them. The room was painted a rich red with gold crown molding. The table was beautiful mahogany, as were the chairs. The food consisted of glazed ham, mashed potatoes, garlic potatoes, cornbread, stuffing, beets, pumpkin pie, cheesecake, and other wonderful delicacies.

Everyone loaded their plates, but no one ate except for Bruce and the Flashes, but they moved too fast for anyone to see. They all stared at their food, every once in a while sending an awkward glance at each other. Dick had yet to arrive and they found it impolite to eat without all the guests. Truth be told, they were beginning to worry. Dick wasn't one for being late. Bruce stopped eating when he noticed the others weren't.

"Is something wrong?"

Barry and Clark shared an unsure look, but it was Diana who answered. "Dick was supposed to come."

Bruce waved her comment off. "He's still angry with me."

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, entering the room, "Commissioner Gordon is on your _special _phone line."

Bruce excused himself from the table and walked into the kitchen where Alfred had set down the phone. He silently hoped the Joker had not broken out of Arkham. If he had, then all of Gotham would have a not-so-merry Christmas. He hesitantly pressed the phone to his ear and heard Jim Gordon nervously telling him about a situation.

"We have a murder and a possible kidnapping."

"Can't the GCPD handle that without me?" Bruce asked in his Batman voice. "I only deal with the big game."

Gordon cleared his throat. "I think you'll understand when you get here. It's on 7th Street, please hurry."

* * *

Batman, Flash, and Wonder Woman stood on 7th Street less than fifteen minutes later. The sun was low on the horizon and the citizens of Gotham were shocked to see the Bat out in semi-daylight. They were even more shocked to see Wonder Woman and the Flash with him. They stayed respectfully behind the yellow police tape that was stretched around the crashed vehicles while the three heroes spoken with Commissioner Gordon.

Batman studied the crashed cars that were in the middle of the street. One was a plain Gotham taxi and the other was an expensive SUV. Both cars were empty, save for the dead taxi driver. The crash hadn't actually killed the man, as he was slashed ear to ear. The deep wound in his neck had sticky blood dribbling onto his shirt. He had been murdered _after_ the crash.

The backseat was stained a deep scarlet red. The window had large cracks in it, blood was splattered all around like paint. The passenger had most likely hit his or her head off the window. Batman doubted that whomever it was was still alive. There was too much blood for the Flash. He did his best to hold down his dinner.

Wonder Woman, along with the others, listened closely to what Commissioner Gordon said. All of the street's cameras had been taken out before the crash and no one had been around to see it. They still did not see how the case related to them, but they were definitely interested. Gordon sighed deeply and handed Batman a black backpack that had been found inside the crashed taxi.

Batman carefully opened the bag as if he were afraid it would explode. Inside, he found a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeved navy blue shirt. He dug deeper and felt cold metal meet his hand. He pulled the mystery object out of the bag and was mildly surprised to see a utility belt. He gazed into the bag to have bright colors meet his eyes.

He pulled out the red, green, yellow, and black uniform and heard gasps from Wonder Woman and the Flash. Rubbing the material between his fingers, Batman sighed. It was real.

Robin was the passenger and he was missing.

* * *

_Is it sad that the whole awkward dinner scene is one of my favorites in this story so far? Yes, probably. But I'm a sucker for any sort of awesome Justice League interactions. Well, I gotta go...I don't know when I'll update next. Hopefully soon. But I guess I gotta finish typing chapter 3 first._


	3. Breakfast with the Devil

_Hello again! I'm gonna try to make this quick, as it is almost midnight, and that's when I usually watch Star Trek. So ummm...there is Dick angst in this chapter, and I'm pretty sure that's all that's important. So read on!_

* * *

His head felt like a cinderblock had been dropped on it. His sides ached and he felt terribly drowsy. The black bliss of unconsciousness was leaving him. Pain pulsed through him like a slow acting poison. He groaned, feeling the full pain. He wondered why he wasn't on any sedative.

Dick peeled his eyes open and scanned the room. He wasn't in a hospital. He was in a room with no windows. The carpet was a light gray and the windows were painted, ironically, robin's egg blue. He lay in a bed with an IV in his arm. He _was _given a sedative, he had just built up an immunity to it. He was shirtless and shoeless, but his pants remained. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his head and ribs.

Wincing slightly, he pulled the IV from his arm. He sat up, groaning as his aching ribs protested. He believed some of them were still cracked. He threw his legs over the bed and stood up, he had to lean against the wall to keep himself from falling. The world spun before his eyes and he blinked furiously to try to keep it still.

There was a door on the left side of the room. He slowly made his way to it, keeping his hand on the wall to steady himself. He half expected it to be locked and was mildly surprised when it clicked open. Dick found himself in a short hallway that led to a nice sized kitchen and living room. The kitchen had white walls and a tiled floor, and large sliding glass doors revealed a large backyard. No snow lay on the ground, sunlight seemed to touch every inch of the yard. A beautiful weeping willow was the only tree in the yard.

Dick tried to open the glass door, but it wouldn't budge. At further inspection he learned that the door required a key card. He strained his ears trying to pick up any movement within the house, he heard none. He made his way into the living room and sat down in an armchair. The carpet was an ugly coffee brown and the walls were off-white. A large mirror hung on the far right wall and a book case stood on the left. There was no television.

He stood up and walked to the book case. Scanning the rainbow of covers, he plucked one from the shelf and sat back down. The book had a gray cover and on it there was a hand reached up as if it were trying to grip something. _Falling_, _by Christopher Pike_ was printed in big red letters. Dick was about to begin reading when he was startled by a man standing in the door way between the kitchen and living room.

The man had a hard face that had seen many unspeakable acts. He had grey hair and beady grey eyes. The man wore a black suit, similar to that of Mr. Wilson's. He held bags of groceries. Dick quickly sat the book on the end table and apologized for trespassing. The man waved him off and gave him a warm smile.

"You're fine," the man said. "How are you feeling?"

Dick hesitated. "Dizzy. Confused."

He nodded. "Understandable."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"Where are my manners," the man scolded himself. "I am Major William Wintergreen, but please call me Wintergreen. And as for your location, I'm afraid I cannot tell you that information."

Dick growled impatiently. He didn't like that Wintergreen was withholding information from him. Whatever. He would just deduce his location by observing his surroundings. He could already assume that he was in a southern state due to the lack of snow, but that was all he could tell at the moment.

"Why am I not in a hospital?" Dick asked. "I was in a car accident!"

"I am aware," Wintergreen acknowleged. "That is a question for you to ask the master of the house. Now come help me make breakfast and set the table."

"Who is 'the master'"?

"You will meet him soon enough."

Dick sighed and reluctantly followed Wintergreen into the kitchen. The older man pulled a pan from one of the cabinets and set it on the stove. He handed Dick silverware and plates. The young acrobat had started to set the table when he noticed that there was only enough for two people. Wintergreen planned on him eating breakfast with "the master".

"Thank you, my dear boy," Wintergreen said. "Now go take a shower before the master get home. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway. There are fresh clothes waiting for you in there and there is a wastebasket for you to dispose of your bandages in."

Dick hesitantly exited the kitchen and entered the hallway. Sure enough, he found a bathroom. It was a comfortable size, and the walls were a deeper blue than that of the room he woke up in. The floor tiles were cream and brown pentagons. He scanned every inch of the room for hidden cameras before undressing. He gingerly peeled away his bandages and poked at the large bruises that covered his chest. They didn't look _too _bad.

He turned the water up as high as it could go and stepped into the shower. He sighed as the hot water washed over his wounds. He picked up a bat of soap and winced as he washed his torso. A small cry of pain escaped his lips as he washed his hair. Running his fingers through his black locks, he felt stitches on the right side of his head where he had hit the window. He felt about seven stitches.

He turned the water off and grabbed a towel from the rack before stepping out of the shower. He quickly dried himself off and threw on the clothes that were waiting for him on the counter, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He found a brush and combed his hair back.

Dick exited the bathroom and started for the kitchen, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a venomous voice coming from the kitchen. The voice was poison that infected his brain, it ate away at the delicate tissue and caused every inch of his body to buzz with fear. Slowly, he moved down the rest of the hallway and stood in the kitchen doorway. Slade sat at the table, speaking with Wintergreen. His sole grey eye flicked to Dick and he gestured for him to sit down.

He hesitantly sat down across from Slade and stared at the plate of food in front of him. He could feel Slade's eye on him and he shuddered. He wanted to lash out, but he knew that would get him nowhere, so he picked up his fork and began eating the scrambled eggs.

"I'm surprised, Robin," Slade said. "You have no questions."

In that moment, Dick decided to play dumb. He wouldn't give Slade the satisfaction of knowing his secret identity. He shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth and gazed at the masked man with a confused expression. He looked around as if he expected him to be talking to someone else.

"My name is Richard Grayson," he said slowly, "and I _do_ have a question. When can I go home? Bruce and Alfred are probably worried sick about me."

"You won't be going home."

Dick shrugged. "Ransom? Bruce will pay up, this isn't the first time I've been kidnapped."

Slade put a hand on his mask. "Let's eat."

He blinked at him. "You're going to take off your mask?"

"You've already seen my civilian identity."

Dick watched in pure shock as Slade removed his mask to reveal a handsome face with white blond hair and an eye patch. Mr. Wilson. He choked on his eggs and did a double take. How had he not known Slade and Mr. Wilson were the same person? His voice and eye patch were both hints he had not taken. He imagined the reason he had not figured it out was because he couldn't think of Slade as a human under the mask.

"So do I call you Slade or Mr. Wilson?"

"You may call me whatever you wish."

A cocky grin formed on Dick's face. "Then I'll call you a bas-"

He was cut off midsentence when Slade practically jumped over the table and grabbed his throat. Dick's chair gave way and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor. Slade's face was inches from his, his eye glaring at him intently. Dick closed his eyes and muttered a few curses. Slade's grip on his neck only tightened. When he spoke, Dick could feel his mouth near his ear.

"Rule number one: no profanities," Slade hissed.

Slade stood up and moved back to his seat. Dick scrambled to his feet and stood his chair upright again. As he sat down he noticed Wintergreen giving him a sympathetic look. Anger bubbled deep inside of him, he didn't need the old man's sympathy. A wave of courage suddenly crashed into him. He leapt to his feet and began shouting.

"I want to go home!"

"This is your home now, Robin," Slade said, as calm as ever.

"I'm not Robin!" he exploded. "My name is Richard John Grayson!"

"Then why were these found in your back pocket?"

Slade held up his communicator and domino mask. Dick closed his eyes and willed it all to be a bad dream. Slade knew his identity. He wanted to scream, to attack Slade without a plan, to throw a chair through the glass door. Instead he ripped his mask from the man's grasp and placed it on his face. He didn't bother with the communicator, Slade would have already disabled it.

Even though Slade had already seen his eyes and knew his identity, he still felt better about wearing his mask. It gave him _some_ privacy and made him feel a little less naked. Truth be told, he was hiding behind the mask like a scared child. Dick glared at Slade, he hated the man for taking him from his family.

"Screw you," Dick muttered.

Slade twisted his hand in Dick's black hair and yanked the boy's head back, forcing him to look up. A small grunt escaped Dick's lips, but he refused to show any more pain. He wouldn't give Slade the satisfaction. He glared at the villain through his mask. He refused to break.

"What was that?"

"Screw. You."

"I'd watch your mouth."

"I could've said f-"

Dick was silenced by a hard slap to the face. Slade let him fall to the floor and laughed as he climbed to his feet. He rubbed the pink flesh where Slade had hit him and avoided eye contact. Sitting down, he continued to eat his breakfast. He watched as Slade put his mask back on and left the room without touching his food. Dick hesitantly stood up and helped Wintergreen clear the table.

He would be there a while.

* * *

_Hehe...I like Robin when he's being sassy. __Anyway, I have a random superhero related story to tell ya'll: So my dad was watching the news and it was rambling about the presidential election. Since I'm confused by politics and stuff and too young to vote anyway, my dad jokingly asked me who I was voting for. I responded by yelling "Captain America!". And then I told Charlie about this and we had an entire conversation about which superheroes would make a good president._ _So yeah, there's my rambling for the day._

_Oh, so I don't know when I'm gonna update next, as I haven't started typing the next chapter, and I won't have Charlie's notebook for the entire weekend. Well, I'm gonna go watch Star Trek. Don't forget to review!_


	4. Falling Stars

The sea had a large pumpkin in it. Or at least Starfire thought it looked like a pumpkin, though she knew it was just the setting sun reflecting off the water. The ocean was calm as the water lapped up against the island. The sky was a pattern of blue, grey, and orange. It looked as though it were an oil painting right out of an art gallery.

Starfire sadly sighed and fingered the falling star necklace that was strung around her neck. It was the gift Robin had given her for Christmas. Robin had yet to return from his "personal trip" and she was worried. It was three days after his planned returning date, and Robin was _never _late. She was terrified that something had happened to him while he was away.

The smell of her favorite food, her favorite human food, filled the tower. Sauerkraut. She had learned that it was an Earth tradition to eat sauerkraut and mashed potatoes on New Year's and the days that followed. She stepped away from the window, walked to the kitchen, and piled food onto a plate. She sat down on the couch where everyone else was already eating.

"Friends," Starfire said, "I worry for Robin's safety."

"Ah, he'll be fine, Star," Cyborg replied.

"But he was supposed to return three days ago!"

"Rob can take care of himself."

Raven was also worried about Robin. Before he left, she could sense large amounts of stress radiating off of him. She figured the trip would put him at ease, but through their connection she felt no ease. All she felt was anger, pain, confusion, and hope. Raven contemplated going into his mind, but didn't for two reasons. One: It was rude. Two: He was too far away.

Beast Boy flipped through the television channels and rested on a rerun of Doctor Who. He hadn't been worried about Robin until Starfire brought up the fact that he was three days late. In all the time he had known the Boy Wonder, he had never been late for anything. Beast Boy felt as if he had swallowed a butterfly. He had to remind himself that Robin could take care of himself.

"Perhaps I should call Robin," Starfire said taking out her communicator.

Cyborg sighed. "Star, Robin said only to call if it was an emergency."

Raven cleared her throat. "I think Starfire should make the call. I've been getting bad emotions off of him all week."

"Me too," Beast Boy piped up. "Well, not the emotions thing, but I think we should call Robin."

Cyborg shook his head. "Listen, I think Robin left Gotham for a reason. Returning brought up bad memories, explaining the emotions thing. Think about it: this is the first time he's seen his family in years. Of course he's going to be late getting back."

The three other Titans would hear nothing of it. They had already opened the communicator and punched the button that would link to Robin's communicator. The screen filled with grey snow and they waited, but it never connected. Becoming concerned, Cyborg tried to reach Robin through the computer on his arm to learn that his location device had been disconnected.

"Robin is a close friend of Speedy, yes?" Starfire asked. "Perhaps he would know where he is."

It was long shot, but she may have been right. Cyborg moved to the computer and called up the Titans East Tower in Steel City. A few minutes later, Bumblebee's face blinked to life on the screen. A deep blush settled over Cyborg's face and he sheepishly waved to her. In the background he swore he could see Aqualad trying to drown Mas y Menos.

"Well, hey, Sparky," Bee said. "Is something wrong?"

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Is Speedy there?"

She frowned. "No, he left the day before Christmas to visit some family. He said he'd be back after New Year's, but we got a call from him yesterday saying he had a family emergency and would be gone for a while. He said something about having to save his little brother."

"Robin too left before the holiday of gift giving," Starfire thought out loud. "But he did not call to inform us he was not going to be home on the planned date of his returning."

"Speedy didn't happen to mention Robin being with him, did he?" Cyborg asked.

"No, but I saw on the news that Speedy, Black Canary, and several other heroes were spotted in Gotham." She paused. "Is something wrong?"

"We don't know yet. Could be something, could be nothing."

"Well, I hope I helped," Bee said. "I've got to go save Mas y Menos before Aqualad takes them so far underwater their heads explode."

The screen went blank and the four Titans just stared at it. Tears welled in Starfire's eyes. They didn't know where Robin was and that scared her. She feared he was gone forever. She could not bear life without him, they were practically attached at the hip.

"Let's think about this logically," Raven calmly stated. "Robin went to Gotham, and who is in Gotham?"

"Batman!" Beast Boy and Cyborg answered in unison.

Starfire's brow furrowed. "Please, who is this man of bats you speak of?"

Beast Boy and Cyborg were shocked into silence. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Starfire felt hurt. She knew nothing about this so-called Batman and they were making fun of her. She knew if Robin had been there he would have politely explained it to her. The boys stopped laughing when Raven shot them a look that could send the strongest of men into hiding.

"Batman protects Gotham City," she explained. "He trained Robin."

Starfire nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps Robin is with Batman and his communicator was damaged."

"That still doesn't explain why Speedy is gone too," the cybernetic teen said.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence that Robin and Speedy left at the same time," Raven added.

"Please forgive if I am wrong," Starfire said, "But did Robin not once say that he does not believe in coincidences?"

Cyborg nodded. "We have to assume the two of them leaving is connected."

"I got it!" Beast Boy announced. "Speedy and Robin went to Gotham to meet up with Batman and Green Arrow because the heroes with superpowers rose up against the heroes without. So, pretty much the whole Justice League against the four of them, like during the Civil War when the North fought against China to free the mutated chickens from the underwater caves. Anyway, during the fighting, Robin got pushed down by a random little girl and fell on his communicator, breaking it. At the same time, Speedy's little brother Jack was taken hostage by Captain Marvel, who tied him above a vat of boiling cheese."

_Wow, _Raven thought to herself, _every part of that was wrong._ Out loud, she said, "As logical as that sounds, I don't think the Justice League would attack Batman and Green Arrow. Also, I'm pretty sure Speedy is an only child, and even if he had a brother, I don't think his name would be Jack."

"Well, then explain how they both disappeared, _Miss I-Know-Everything,"_

"I have no answer on that subject."

"Perhaps we could contact the man of bats, he must know where Robin is," Starfire chipped in. "We could go to the city of Gotham and find if he has any information on the whereabouts of our dear friend Robin."

Cyborg rubbed his head. "Star, I don't think it will be that easy. We can't just walk into the one of the most dangerous cities in the world and expect Batman to greet us and everything to be rainbows and unicorns. Plus, we don't know Robin's identity. We wouldn't even know where to begin looking."

"Hmph," Beast Boy snorted. "Dude, he sure likes to keep his private life private."

Raven fidgeted nervously. A lamp lit up with black energy and shattered into a million pieces. She took a deep breath to calm herself and ignored the questioning looks the others gave her. She had known Robin's identity for quite some time, ever since she had entered his mind to save him from the dust Slade had planted on the mask. She didn't broadcast the fact that she knew. Truth be told, she didn't even know if Robin knew that she knew his identity.

Starfire floated to Raven's side and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. Seldom had she seen her lose control of her emotions. She saw her brow furrow and her gaze drift off into nothingness.

Often when the two would meditate together, after hours of concentration, their hearts would beat at the same rate and their lungs would long for air at the same time. When that would happen, their minds would connect. The connection was not that of which Robin and Raven shared. She and Raven could only connect when they were both in deep meditation. After several times connecting, Starfire learned that outside of meditation, she was able to faintly read the emotions Raven was not showing.

"You have a plan." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Raven replied slowly, "But it involves keeping secrets from you guys."

"Will we find Robin?"

"I can't guarantee we'll _find _him, but we will be closer to finding him."

"Then it is a good plan."

"Then it's settled," Raven said. "Pack up. We're going to Gotham."

* * *

_Yeah, I know...no Dick angst in this chapter. But there will be some in the next chapter, I promise. Again, I'm not sure when I'll update next...I haven't started on chapter 5 yet, so it'll probably be sometime later next week. But I guess that's when I usually update. Oh, and Charlie and I have been very happy with the amount of reviews this story has been getting, so please continue to leave awesome reviews!_


	5. The Days Go By

_Sorry for the delay, guys. I'm lazy and sometimes Charlie is bad at getting me her notebook. But to make up for it, I'll tell you that this chapter has tons of Dick angst._

* * *

Robin shivered as the cold air met his skin. Gooseflesh prickled on his skin, it popped up like daisies in springtime. He wrapped the flimsy white sheet from his bed around his shoulders and willed himself not to fall asleep or he would miss _it._ He was seated at the foot of his bed on the floor. The blue walls looked gray in the dark and the cream carpet looked as white as a ghost. Sighing, he leaned his head against the mattress.

He could hear the quiet sounds of Wintergreen shifting in his bed the next room over. His mouth twisted into a grimace, the disgusting odor that met his nostrils was unpleasant and made his stomach churn. If he hadn't known any better, he would have assumed the stench to be that of a rotting corpse. But he _did _know better. The foul smell was _him, _he hadn't bathed in nearly two weeks. Wintergreen never stood downwind of him and he swore Slade had a clothes hanger clip clipped to his nose under his metallic orange and black mask.

He had lost his privilege to bathe when he stole Wintergreen's pass key. He had been helping the older man clear the dinner table when he not-so-accidently bumped into him and slipped the key card from his pocket and put it into his own. The action had gone unnoticed by Wintergreen and Robin felt like he had gotten away with murder. He was about to slide the card through the slot when Slade's rough hand grabbed his wrist and yanked the card from his hand. After a particularly brutal beating, he had learned he had his rights to take a shower and wear clean clothes taken away.

Robin clutched his stomach and groaned as it growled like a rabid dog. The most he had had to eat in the last week was half a peanut butter sandwich. The bread had been stale and hard, while the peanut butter had been thick and unappetizing. He didn't complain though. The little amount of food he had received was enough to tame his hunger pains, at least for a while. But it did nothing good for the ulcer in his stomach.

He lost his right to eat when he again tried to run away. Slade had taken him outside and around the house to get into the cellar. The cellar doors were an ugly brownish red and a chain with a lock on it was twisted around the door handles. Slade often took him to the basement to train. There was a whole sparring hall down there and several other rooms that he didn't want to imagine what was behind their doors. On that day in particular, the basement lock was jammed and Slade was very frustrated.

Robin didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. He found his feet carrying him away from the house. He didn't look back as he ran. At the edge of the yard, large trees sprung up. He ran into the woods and leaned against a tree, listening for any movement, but heard nothing but the happy chirping of birds.

He walked farther into the woods. He felt like an elephant, every step he took was loud and clumsy. He prayed that Slade hadn't even realized he was missing yet, but it was highly unlikely. He climbed up a nearby tree and concealed himself between the branches and leaves. He waited for any sign that Slade was coming, but he didn't see or hear the masked man. When he decided the coast was clear, he swung down from the tree and began walking in the opposite direction of the house. All of a sudden, the woods seemed like a dark and scary place. An eerie realization hit him: the birds were no longer chirping.

Robin whirled around and crossed his arms over his face in an X, narrowly avoiding a punch to the face. A swift kick swept his feet out from under him and he fell flat on his back. A large steel-toed boot pressed down on his chest and he struggled to remove it. It was cutting off the oxygen to his lungs. He involuntarily convulsed and began tearing at the wretched boot. Slade's masked face loomed over him, his sole eye sparkling with amusement. Robin was about to call out to him when he realized it was _his_ boot that was denying him air. The last thing he saw before passing out was Slade's gloved hand reaching for him.

He sighed sadly at the memory. Why was he so stupid? He should've known he wouldn't be able to get away without a plan. His decisions were becoming rash. Reason had flown out the window. Every once in a while he had to stop, take a deep breath, and remember what Bruce had taught him. _Think things through before you act. _ He knew Bruce would be ashamed if he had seen his desperate actions. A pang of sadness struck his heart. Bruce wasn't looking for him. He was still angry at him for leaving and he was probably even angrier at him for blowing off Christmas.

Bruce wasn't coming.

If he wanted out, he would have to rely on himself. His team would probably look for him, but he was doubtful they would find him. He imagined Kid Flash and Speedy would have noticed his absence at the Christmas dinner and probably would investigate further, but he couldn't depend on them. He needed to take matters into his own hands. He had to save himself.

Then he heard _it. _The loud whistle of a train nearby. It sounded like steam being released from a tea pot. He listened as the wheels chugged along the tracks, the very sound was music to his ears. It was the sound of hope. He quickly moved his nightstand a few inches to the right to reveal writing on the wall. He pulled a Sharpie he had stolen off the kitchen counter when Wintergreen wasn't looking out of his dirty sock. The clock on his dresser flashed 12:02. He jotted down the time and looked over his work proudly.

The list read:

_Mon, 1:23 AM_

_Tue, 12:57 AM_

_Wen, 11:59 PM_

_Thu, 12:36 AM_

_Fri, 1:02 AM_

_Sat, 12:00 AM_

Robin moved the nightstand back into place and crawled into his bed with the sheet wrapped around him like a cocoon. He wiped snot from his nostrils and hoped he wasn't getting sick. Sleep rarely came to him. He suffered from insomnia, but he had always had it so it was nothing new. He was shocked to find his eyes drifting shut as soon as his head hit the pillow. He fell into the most blissful sleep he had ever experienced.

* * *

Slade watched as Wintergreen disappeared down the hallway to wake Robin. The boy hardly talked anymore, at least not to him. He would often find the young boy and Wintergreen discussing the book he had been reading. Normally, he would have taken away anything that gave Robin pleasure because of his intolerable actions. But after he found out what book the boy was reading, he let it slide.

_Falling, _by Christopher Pike.

The book talked about how the lines between good and evil blurred. It was about a good man named Matt, who suddenly turns to the dark side to get revenge against his ex-girlfriend. The lines blur when perfect FBI agent Kelly Feinman makes a mistake that nearly costs her job and her life. Broken by the grief of her husband leaving her and taking their only child, Kelly meets Matt and learns his story. Instead of being enemies, they become friends. And instead of arresting him like she was supposed to, she helps him get away.

Slade hoped that the book would stir up dark thoughts locked away deep in Robin's mind. He hoped that it would pull the boy closer to his side. He sighed. Robin may have limited his talking, but he was still ignorant, stubborn, and never knew when to quit. The boy would deliberately disobey him or do things to anger him. He never learned. He knew the consequences and yet he refused to back down. Slade saw Robin as a bright orange flame that refused to go out. But he would extinguish the orange flame and replace it with a dark blue that would burn on forever in its place.

He heard the quiet footsteps of Robin padding down the hallway. He walked into the kitchen with his head held high. The two locked eyes. Even though Robin's were covered by his mask, Slade could still see the orange flame that burned brighter than the sun within them. He smelled like a dead skunk on the freeway and his dirty clothes stuck to him like a second skin. It was obvious that his own body odor disgusted him. His bones stuck out at odd angles due to weight loss. Slade could count every one of his ribs from his spot at the kitchen table. Dark circles rimmed the boy's eyes and he visibly shook. To say the least, he looked like a walking corpse. Yet he still had an aura of confidence.

Wintergreen stood slightly behind Robin, daring Slade with piercing grey eyes to immediately throw the young acrobat into training.

"There are clothes waiting for you in the bathroom," Slade said. "You may take a shower. Don't take more than seven minutes."

He watched with a slightly amused expression as Robin turned on his heel and sprinted back down the hallway. Wintergreen gave a small nod of approval and proceeded into the kitchen. Slade removed his mask and sat it on the table. Wintergreen did not agree with the way he treated Robin. The old man thought he was too hard on the boy. Slade believed the beatings and deprivation were necessary because he was threatening Robin with his own life, not his friends.

"At least _try_ to keep your temper with him."

"If he does not obey, then he _will _be punished."

Wintergreen sighed. "He's a teenager. If you say one thing, he will do another. But if you show more kindness and consideration, he is less likely to rebel. You tense up too easily. He sees you as a demon coming to rip his soul out. Even though he has seen your face, he can't bring himself to believe you're human."

"He told you that?"

"He's lonely," Wintergreen stated. "He needs human interaction, and he would rather cut his own vocal cords than talk to you."

Slade brushed off the older man's comment. Everything he did was necessary. He watched as Wintergreen opened a can of chicken soup and poured it into a black pot on the stove. Wintergreen had made him promise not to put Robin through any more physical training until he regained some of his strength. He reluctantly complied, knowing full well he could ruin the boy if he did not.

He snapped his mask back into place when he heard the bathroom door open and close. Even though they had seen each other's faces and knew each other's secret identities, they both felt better about wearing their masks around each other. Robin stepped into the kitchen, his hair still wet and hanging limply, as Slade did not provide him with the hair gel he needed to spike his hair. He wore a pair of loose fitting jeans and a blue t-shirt that was several sizes too big.

Slade stood up. "Training will begin soon. Wintergreen is making your food now. When you are done eating, I want you outside and prepared for whatever I'm going to throw at you."

Robin watched Slade slide his key card into the slot and walk out the open sliding glass door before sitting down at the table. The smell of chicken soup danced through the air, making his mouth water. A sudden pain tore at his stomach, and it took all his strength not to cry out. He hadn't told Slade or Wintergreen about the ulcer. He figured it would get better, but it had only gotten worse.

Wintergreen sat the soup in front of Robin and wandered into the living room. Robin gingerly blew the steam off his soup and spooned some into his mouth. He winced as the hot liquid reached his stomach, burning his ulcer. He was hungry, but the pain in his stomach caused him to lose his appetite. He slurped up his soup quickly and gathered his things. He placed the bowl and spoon in the sink, taking his time to wash them. He towel dried them both and placed them in their appropriate cupboards. Jerking his head up, he looked to see if he was being watched. He could see Wintergreen sitting in the living room reading a newspaper. Slowly, he opened a drawer off to his right. He reached in, never taking his eyes off Wintergreen, pulled out a roll of Scotch tape, and slipped it into his pocket.

Robin moved to the doorway of the living room and cleared his throat to gain Wintergreen's attention.

"I, uh, need to be escorted out," he said sheepishly.

"That won't be necessary, you may use my pass key."

His head snapped up and he met the old man's eyes. "Are you serious? I mean, you…you trust me? You don't think I'm going to run away and-"

"_Are_ you going to run away?"

"Well, no," he stuttered. _At least not yet,_ he added in his mind.

"Then I have no reason not to trust you."

"Won't Slade be angry?"

"He will get over it. Besides, he strongly trusts my judgment."

Wintergreen tossed his pass key to Robin, who stared at it like it was going to grow teeth and bite his head off. He often wondered why Wintergreen worked with Slade. He was so _nice_, while Slade was so "Do what I say or die". Don't get him wrong, Wintergreen could be mean. He recalled a time when the older man had yelled at him and slapped him across the face. Of course, it had been during his first week of captivity and he _had_ pulled a knife on Wintergreen. Who wouldn't be angry after that? Even so, he still didn't understand why Wintergreen stuck with Slade.

Sighing, Robin walked back into the kitchen and slid the key card through its slot. Quickly reaching into his pocket, he broke off a piece of tape. He slid the door open and placed the tape over its lock. The outside air was surprisingly warm. It smelled of flora and fresh cut grass. The sun touched every corner of the yard, making it look like a painting. He almost wished he had a camera.

_Be prepared for whatever I'm going to throw at you._

He hesitantly stepped into the sunlight, wondering if Slade literally meant he was going to throw something at him. Looking around, he saw nothing in sight but a few birds ripping at each other as they flew by. Something white was on the trunk of the weeping willow. Sending a worried glance at the house, he began to climb uphill towards the tree. Normally when he was outside, he was to stay next to Slade's side like a faithful dog, but Slade wasn't there to lead him. Something deep within his mind told him that the tree was his limit. If he walked any farther than the tree, then he would be out of sight of the house.

Glancing once again at the house, Robin expected Slade or Wintergreen to be standing out on the back porch yelling for him to come back, but he saw no one. The house was made of yellow bricks, much like the road to Oz, and the cement holding them together was a light black. He estimated the house to be at least fifty years old. It didn't have many windows, much to his dismay, and only had three doors that led outside, each of which required a pass key.

Robin stopped about five yards away from the tree and was surprised to find the white he had seen was a target. Yet again sweeping his eyes over the yard, he idly wondered if Slade was putting him to some kind of test to see if he would run. His eyes flicked to the woods only a football field away. His hands began to sweat and he licked his dry lips. He _could _run. He was a fast runner and could run long distances without getting tired. But he had only a vague idea as to where the woods led to. He mentally slapped himself, shaking all the thoughts of running away out of his head. Robin wiped his palms on his jeans. He wasn't thinking straight. He needed to stop making irrational decisions and formulate a plan.

He was startled by a loud bang that echoed through the yard. By instinct, he dropped and flattened himself to the ground, making himself a smaller target. It took his brain a few seconds to process that the sound he had heard was a gunshot. The sound was not foreign to his ears, as he had grown up in Gotham. But he hadn't heard one in a while because Jump was a relatively peaceful city. Pulling his face away from the ground, he looked up to see a bullet hole in the bull's-eye of the target. Turning his head toward the house, he saw Slade slowly making his way to him. A small gun was gripped in his hand.

Jumping to his feet, Robin raised his hands above his head to show he wasn't going to pull anything. "I wasn't going to run! I swear!"

"I know," Slade said. "What do you know about guns?"

"They kill people," Robin said with distaste.

"Guns do not kill people. People kill people."

"Whatever," he spat. "My point is that I don't like them."

"Is it you who does not like them? Or is it Batman?"

Robin opened his mouth to reply with a witty remark, but quickly shut it for he knew it would do nothing but earn him a backhand to the face. Slade continued trying to get a rise out of him.

"It makes sense, considering he lost both his parents to gunfire. I would imagine you would be afraid of heights."

He closed his eyes. "Please stop."

"What was that?"

"_Please _stop."

"I'm glad you finally learned to mind your manners," Slade said. "If things continue like this, you may actually be able to go on a mission."

Robin sighed and tossed Slade Wintergreen's pass card. "What do you want me to do?"

"Stand at twenty yards and shoot the target."

"With a gun?"

"No, with a toothpick."

Slade grabbed Robin's shoulder and walked him fifteen yards back. He pretended to listen as Slade showed him how to load the weapon. It looked easy enough. He nearly dropped to the ground again when Slade fired to show him how to aim. He hated guns. Robin jumped slightly when Slade forced the gun into his hand. The metal felt cool to the touch, almost like ice. It sent shivers up his spine. He was mildly surprised at how heavy it was. It had seemed so light, but it was weighing his arm down.

He fumbled to click the clip into place, all the while aware of Slade's sole eye watching him. He really didn't want to shoot a gun, just holding it made him want to vomit. Robin held the gun away from his body with both of his hands wrapped around the handle. Hesitantly, he clicked the safety off and took aim at the target. Closing one eye, he lined up the metal pin on the barrel of the gun with the red dot in the middle of the target.

Yanking the gun from its concentrated position, he pointed it at Slade and fired. He hadn't meant to, his body had acted before his mind could think. The bullet missed Slade by a mile. Both of them stood in shocked silence, neither of them had known he was going to do it. Snapping out of his trance, Slade ripped the gun from Robin's grip and placed it back in its holster. Fear swelled within Robin's chest. Turning around, he made a mad dash for the woods. But he was stopped short when Slade's large hand tangled in his hair.

Slade yanked Robin to the ground, kicking him in the ribs. A small groan escaped his lips as he pulled himself off the ground. Before he could even ready himself, Slade's fist connected with his jaw. He blindly swung at the man only to have his fist caught and his arm twisted painfully behind his back. After untwisting himself, Robin sent a well-aimed kick to Slade's chest that caused him to stagger for a moment, but only for a moment. Robin could do nothing but gawk in horror as a roundhouse kick was sent his way. Slade's metal boot connected with the right side of his forehead. He must have blacked out momentarily, for when his vision cleared he was laying on his back with Slade standing over him.

"Please, Slade, stop," he whimpered, trying to crawl away.

"No, Robin. You need to learn you are mine now. You need to sit when I say sit, attack when I say attack, and kill when I tell you to kill."

Robin's fear was suddenly replaced with hot, burning anger. "I won't become a monster like you. You can beat me, torture me, dip my wounds in salt water, but I will never break. I will never be like you. Deep down, I will always be Robin the Boy Wonder, hero, leader of the Teen Titans, and protégé of Batman."

A dark chuckle rose in Slade's throat. "But you are already halfway there. Did you or did you not just try to murder me?"

He didn't answer.

"Think, Robin. You and I are more alike than you could ever imagine. You live a life that Bruce Wayne has created for you. Isn't that why you left him? Tell me, did you feel the power that gun gave you? The power of being able to end my life in a split second. It sent an electric shock through you. You _wanted _to kill me. Just like you wanted to kill Tony Zucco all those years ago."

"Go to Hell," Robin spat.

"Oh, I will," Slade said, kneeling down to be eye level with him. "And I intend on dragging you down with me."

"You can't keep me here forever."

"That is true," he agreed. "You will stay here until you are ready to commit to me, or until you are buried six feet under."

"I would rather die than be like you."

"Enough," Slade said sharply. "You will spend the next three days in your room."

"Great," Robin said with mock enthusiasm. "Solitary confinement. At least I'll be away from you."

The force behind Slade's slap caused Robin's head to spin. Jumping to his feet, Robin made a break for the back door which Wintergreen held open for him. The old man wore a mixed expression of sympathy and anger. He held out an icepack for Robin, who ripped it away from his grasp and stomped off to his room like a two year old. Tearing the door open, he quickly put a piece of tape over the lock and slammed the door shut behind him.

He sunk to the floor with a satisfied smile plastered on his face. Things were running smoothly. If his plan were to work, he would he home free in less than forty-eight hours. He gingerly placed the icepack on his forehead, wincing slightly as the cold plastic touched his tender flesh. He was hungry, but not as much so as he had been hours earlier. At least he was clean.

Peeling off his mask, Dick sat it on his side table and crawled into his bed. He would need as much energy as he could get if he had any hopes of his plan working.

* * *

_Yep, Slade is such a creepy dude. Especially for a cartoon. Also, there is a scary amount of Slade pimp-slapping people in this chapter. Only adds to the creepiness. Anyway...I think Charlie finally has an ending for this story. Of course, I'm not gonna tell you what it is. But I will tell you my (much better) idea: Everybody turns into ponies at the end. And Bruce somehow ends up as a pink pony. But of course, Charlie won't write that._

_So I will not be updating again for over a week or so, as Charlie and I will both be in Florida. Disney World, to be exact. But Charlie will have her notebook so she can write on the bus ride down, and I will bother her the whole time. Unless the bus has wi-fi...then I am watching stuff on Netflix. _

_Don't forget to review!_


	6. The Great Escape

_So Charlie and I made it back from Florida in one piece. I'm actually surprised we didn't manage to kill each other though. And I apologize for not updating sooner...I actually got back last week, but I spent most of my week catching up on shows that I missed while I was gone. Actually, I was just being lazy in general. So to make up for my long absence, I present you with a chapter full of Dick angst. _

* * *

Dick looked out at the crowd of a million faces, all cheering and smiling up at him. The ground was a long way down, but he wasn't scared. He could fly. Haley's circus was doing a charity show benefitted by Mr. Bruce Wayne. All the money made that night would be donated to the Gotham City Orphanage. His dad had told him what a nice man Mr. Wayne was. Dick even got to shake his hand once.

Scanning the crowd, Dick spotted Mr. Wayne sitting in the front row munching on popcorn and sipping a soda. He waved excitedly and Mr. Wayne gave him a curt nod. A few row behind him sat a man in a trench coat with greasy, slicked-back, hair. He smiled at Dick, causing the young acrobat to shudder. Earlier in the day, he had seen the same man arguing with Mr. Haley. He had said something bad was going to happen, but when Dick tried to tell his parents, they waved it off.

He watched as the strange man left his seat and disappeared into the crowd. Letting himself forget about the man, Dick's mind wandered onto other things. He hoped he would see Batman before the circus left Gotham. He knew he would never get close enough to take a picture or anything, but he held onto the hope that he would see the Dark Knight standing on top of a building or something. Wrapping his hand in his mother's, he squeezed.

"Are you scared, my little robin?" Mary Grayson asked.

"Nope!" he said, shaking his head vigorously. "I'm really excited! I can't wait to see how the audience reacts to my flip!"

That night would be the first night Dick Grayson would perform his quadruple flip in front of a crowd. It would be the first recorded time _anyone _ever performed a quadruple flip. Dick had been working on it since he was old enough to use the trapeze. His parent had finally deemed him ready to perform it without a net. He felt like it was his birthday and Christmas wrapped into one!

Familiar circus music filled the tent. His mother handed him the trapeze and he took off. A quarter of the way through the swing, he let go and tucked himself into a small ball. Propelling all his weight forward, he began to spin in midair. He did one…two…three….four flips and spread out all his limbs. Catching his father's hand at the last possible second, he swung to the platform opposite to where his mother was standing. The crowd whooped and hollered, so he gave a modest bow.

He watched proudly as his parents did their routine. They flew through the air with grace he could only dream of possessing. Stepping to the edge of the platform, Dick prepared to grab his mother's hands to perform the finale, when a glint of silver caught his attention. On the catwalk stood the greasy man who had argued with Mr. Haley. He was sawing through the ropes that held his parents in the air. Just as his mother was almost within his reach, the ropes snapped.

Mary and John Grayson didn't scream as they fell, but Dick did. He reached his hands out to them as if he could catch them, but he knew nothing could save them at that point. The crowd was shocked into silence when two of the three Flying Graysons hit the ground with a series of sickening cracks and pops. Cheerful music continued to flow through the big top along with the tortured wails of the newly orphaned boy.

No one noticed the greasy man slip out of the tent.

Dick woke up with a start. He was covered in a cold sweat and fresh tear trails ran along his cheeks. His legs were twisted in his sheets as if they had come alive in the middle of the night and tried to eat him from the bottom up. Closing his eyes, he slowly counted backwards from ten in a failed attempt to calm himself. His black hair was plastered to his forehead by the sweat that continued to pour off him. His lungs could not seem to find enough air, so he was forced to take deep shuddering breaths.

He strained his ears, but heard nothing but Wintergreen fast asleep in his room. Normally, he would scream in his sleep when he had _that_ particular dream, but it seemed he didn't that time. Rolling over, Dick checked the time on his alarm clock. It was 12:15 AM. He was late. He quickly slipped into his sneakers and threw on his sweatshirt.

Dick stumbled through the dark room, not taking the time to let his eyes adjust. Fumbling, his hands found the cool metal doorknob to his bedroom door. The door locked from the outside so Slade could control when he could leave his room. He silently prayed that the tape he had put over his lock was thick enough to keep the lock from clicking into place. It didn't help any that he had slammed the door. Turning the knob slowly, the door popped open.

His heart was beating hard and loud. He worried Slade would hear, but he again heard nothing but Wintergreen sleeping. He was surprised to find Slade's bedroom door slightly ajar. Curiosity got the best of him. He shouldered the door open to see an empty room. The walls were a mixture of cream and blue, and the carpet was the same shade of ugly brown that was laid down in the living room. A door on the right side of the room led to a small personal bathroom. A large window opposite of an oak dresser looked onto the front yard that was lit up by moonlight.

Backing out of the room, Dick silently slipped down the hallway and into the kitchen. He was nothing but a shadow. Night was his turf. He appeared in the daytime with the Titans, but he would always prefer night. The darkness wrapped around him like a familiar blanket. If Wintergreen were to come out for a midnight snack, he could stand nose to nose with him and still not be seen. Dick had his hand on the sliding glass door handle when a strange noise rose up from under the floor.

Slade was in the basement.

Breathing a sigh of relief when the door slid open, Dick stepped out into the moonlit night. The yard provided no cover. It was open, he was exposed. Sprinting through the dew covered grass, he made it to the willow tree just as he heard the basement door closing. Willow trees were the _worst_ possible tree to hide in. Their branches were thin and flimsy and their leaves were tiny, but he climbed the thick truck anyway and tried to hide himself among the leaves and branches.

He tried to calm his frantically beating heart as Slade appeared around the side of the house. If he were to turn around he would see Dick standing in the tree, but God answered his prayers and Slade disappeared inside the house. He stood in the tree for about another ten minutes before swinging down and planting his feet firmly on the ground. He had to be sure Slade wasn't looking.

He continued on his path to the woods. He was so quiet that if someone _were_ to hear him, they would mistake him for a field mouse. When he got to the edge of the yard, he hesitated. He was a city boy. In the woods he was loud, but if he kept to the trees he would be quieter. Hearing a train whistle go off nearby, he knew he would have to give up stealth for speed. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to have Kid Flash's powers.

The train whistle was coming from directly in front of him. He sprinted forward, not caring about the leaves and sticks that crunched under his feet. The woods seemed to close in on him, growing thicker as he ran farther. He felt like the trees were trying to suffocate him. His heart pounded as if it were trying to escape his chest. He wasn't going to make the train. Just as that thought passed through his mind, he broke out of the brush to see the iron horse speeding along the tracks.

Dick ran alongside the train, waiting for the opportunity to jump into an open car. Gripping a handlebar that was sticking out of the trains tightly, his feet were lifted off of the ground. Panic rose deep inside of him when he realized that he couldn't swing his legs into the car. He hung limply off the side of the train. Shutting his eyes tightly, he prayed for a miracle. If the train happened to pass a tree, he would lose both of his legs and bleed out in seconds. He had seen it on 1,000 Ways to Die.

Then a strange thing happened. A pair of hands covered his.

"Let go!" an authoritative voice bellowed.

Dick shook his head violently.

"Let go!" came the voice again. "It's okay, I've got you! I'm not gonna let you fall!"

Taking a deep breath, Dick let go. When he opened his eyes he was lying sprawled on the floor of the train car. His lungs rapidly pumped air as he propped himself up into a sitting position. He had _never _been so scared in his life, and he fought madmen for a living. Raising his head slightly, he got his first glimpse of his savior. He was a teenage boy only slightly older than he was. Dick imagined he was about Roy's age. He had short, messy, brown hair, but the messy looked good on him. He had sparkling blue eyes that could rival even Dick's. He wore a pair of scruffy jeans that were a little too large for him. The gray plaid shirt he wore was only there to cover the holey red t-shirt he had on under it. Overall, he was quite handsome.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," Dick muttered. "Thanks."

The older boy seemed satisfied with his answer. He crawled over to the wall parallel to Dick. The boy studied him for a while and he was about to tell him to take a picture when he opened his mouth. When he spoke, he spoke with a Pennsylvanian accent.

"You look familiar."

Dick shrugged. "I have one of those faces."

"No, you're someone important," he said thoughtfully. "Aren't you that billionaire's kid? Bruce Wayne?"

He shrugged. "I'm not that important."

The boy laughed. "So was living the high life too much for you? Are you running away from Mr. Wayne?"

Anger flared inside of him. "No. I'm running _to _him."

"Whoa, man," the boy said, raising his arms defensively. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Let's start fresh. I'm Leroy."

"Dick."

"People call you that?" Leroy asked, lightly joking. "Or are you calling me that?"

Amusement flashed in his eyes. "Both."

"Hey now," the elder boy said, still joking. "I won't be sassed by a snotty rich brat."

Dick decided he liked Leroy. He reminded him of Roy. He liked Leroy's serious outward appearance but his joking inside. He older boy launched into a series of bad puns that had Dick laughing so hard his insides hurt. He had known the boy less than five minutes, yet he felt like he had grown up with him. Leroy's face suddenly took on a very serious look and Dick knew the questions were coming.

"Why did you risk jumping on a moving train?"

Dick looked away, suddenly unable to meet Leroy's eyes. "Why are you on a train without a ticket?"

"I asked first."

He sighed. "I'm trying to get home."

"You were kidnapped." It was a statement, not a question. "Was it because they knew Wayne would pay up or….because of the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

Leroy ignored him.

"Answer me."

"Was it because you are Robin?"

Dick stared at him blankly. "What?"

"I'm a wanderer." Leroy said, shrugging. "I have no home or family, no purpose. And with no purpose, you have a lot of free time. And with a lot of free time, you figure things out. It actually wasn't that hard….Bruce Wayne disappears for a couple of years and when he comes back, Batman is suddenly fighting crime in Gotham. And then Wayne takes _you_ in and, lo 'n behold, Robin shows up."

"Hmmm…it _is _kind of obvious."

"That's what I thought! Oh, and I know that Superman is Clark Kent."

"Half the _world _knows that Superman is Clark Kent," Dick pointed out, laughing.

Leroy's face again became serious. "So are you going to explain to me what exactly happened to you?"

Dick launched into a detailed explanation about everything Slade put him through. He told Leroy about the brutal beatings and the harsh training. The older boy's face became ashen and he suddenly looked like he was going to be sick. He told him of being denied food and cleanliness. He explained the terrible dreams that plagued his sleeping and every waking thought. He didn't care that he was sharing his darkest secrets with a total stranger. He needed someone to talk to and Leroy was a great listener. For the first time he realized how lonely he had been being with Slade.

"You know this train isn't going to Gotham, right?"

Dick nodded. He didn't expect the train to magically take him to whatever destination he wanted. In that moment, he knew he didn't want to face Bruce. He would make him hang up his cape for sure. His plan was to get off at whatever city the train stopped at and try to contact the Titans. And if that failed, then and only then would he call Bruce.

"Our first stop is Star City," Leroy continued.

Star City was great. He could go to Oliver Queen for help. He knew Ollie would give him a place to stay and wait for his team to come and get him without telling Bruce.

He felt safe. But in the deep dark corners of his mind, he knew the safety wouldn't last.

* * *

_So I really like Leroy...he's probably now my favorite OC that Charlie has ever created. Oh, and I promise that I will actually make an attempt to update more often, because I feel bad for not updating in almost two weeks. And just to let you know, there's a pretty awesome scene in chapter 11...it involves Batman and what is more or less pimp slapping. I'm sorta excited to type it._

_Hopefully it won't take me over a week to post the next chapter. But then again, I have majority of Lord of the Rings left to read and a disturbing amount of X-Files to watch. So sorry in advance if it takes me a week to update._


	7. The Bird and the Bat

Raven, or Rachael Roth, tugged at her shirt. It was much too close to her skin for comfort. As Raven she wouldn't have minded, but as Rachael it made her feel self-conscious. The purple Aero t-shirt had been a Christmas gift from Beast Boy. She had been feeling polite that day, so she didn't point out that it was a size smaller than she preferred. The black skinny jean she wore hugged her butt tightly. They were also a gift from Beast Boy and unlike the shirt, she believed the size was intentional.

She gently rubbed her palms over the goosebumps that rose on her skin. Rachael wished she had a coat. She hadn't expected Gotham to be so cold. But then again, it was the middle of winter. It had been a little over a month since they had last seen Robin. His emotions were so distant that she could no longer tell happy from sad or fear from excitement. But in the very least, she knew he was still alive.

The goal was to find Robin before Valentine's Day. Well, it was Starfire's goal, but it was as good a goal as any. Rachael had expected Starfire to mope around after they declared Robin missing, but the little alien was full of surprises. She remained very hopeful and optimistic. She would listen to Beast Boy's crazy explanations and tell him why they were incorrect, help Cyborg try to activate Robin's communicator even though she knew nothing about computers, and she would meditate with Raven as she mentally searched for him.

Rachael sighed. Every member of the team held hope, but it was quickly dying like a fire that had been denied oxygen. She was mildly surprised that they had all been okay with her keeping secrets from them. But they were not her secrets to tell. They would do anything to bring Robin back. She didn't say it out loud, but she feared they would never see him again. They had next to nothing and it was unlikely Robin's kidnapper or kidnappers would keep him alive much longer.

She stared up at the large iron gate before her. Ivy hung off of it, only adding to its antique beauty. The black metal curved into half circles as if it were trying to get something just out of its reach. A large 'W' topped it in a calligraphic letter. Rachael moved to the small speaker box that was built into the gate. Gently pressing in the button, she began to speak.

"I need to see Mr. Wayne."

After a few seconds of waiting, a pleasant English voice filtered through the box. "I'm sorry, Master Wayne is not here at the current time."

"Please, this is very important." Rachael paused, contemplating on what name to call Robin. "It regards Richard Grayson."

"Very well," came the voice. "Please come in."

The large gate began to open slowly with a grinding noise. She walked swiftly to the door that was held open for her by a butler. He wore a perfectly tailored suit that added to his age. His hair was combed back to reveal a kind face. He had many smile lines, but equally as many worry lines. His eyes shone with sadness and Rachael felt bad for the old man.

"I will get the master," he said, managing a smile. "Would you like some tea?"

"Herbal, please."

"Please excuse me, but what is your name?"

"Rachael Roth," she replied. "Raven."

Understanding flashed in the old man's eyes. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Roth. I am Alfred Pennyworth. If you would please follow me."

She followed him into a large room. A fireplace was parallel to the door. Two couches sat facing each other and a large window was to her left. The walls were painted a light blue, and white molding topped them off. The floor was wooded with a kind of wood Rachael could not identify, but it looked elegant and expensive. A mirror was hung above the fireplace. She had to look away for it only showed how out of place she was.

Rachael lowered herself onto a couch and neatly folded her hands in her lap. She felt so small in such a big house, like she was a needle in a haystack. After a few minutes, Alfred came in with her tea and informed her that Mr. Wayne would be with her shortly. Sipping her tea, she shivered. The house…no, the mansion was so big and so empty. She felt her consciousness expand over the large area. Every hallway seemed to be filled with the sadness of long forgotten memories. No wonder Robin was the way he was. He had a sad and lonely childhood, but he hadn't always been so hard and serious. When she went in his mind, she had seen him constantly playing jokes on people with two red-headed boys whose names he had blocked from her. She didn't know what had caused him to become so serious. He had blocked that from her as well, so he obviously didn't want her to know and she respected that.

She didn't hear Bruce walk into the room, so she nearly spilt her tea all over herself when he lightly tapped her on the shoulder. Bruce Wayne looked to be in his mid-thirties. He had a handsome build, but he hid it under a well-fitting business suit. His face was hard and showed absolutely no emotion, but Rachael could feel worry and hope pouring off of him like buckets of water. he sat down on the couch across from her and leaned forward slightly with his hands folded before him.

"Considering when you spoke with Alfred, you referred to Dick as _Richard._ He either didn't tell you the whole story or he didn't tell you directly."

Rachael matched his icy tone. "He didn't tell me at all. I went into his head."

"Why?" There was an edge to his voice.

She fought for control of her emotions. This guy scared her and she didn't want to blow anything up. She wouldn't have the money to replace it. "A villain that Robin had been obsessed with had been killed by a former Titan, but Robin claimed that he still saw and fought him. The only problem was none of us could see him, but we all knew that the bruises he had were real. To protect us, he locked us in the infirmary. He had too much stress on his brain and it was killing his body. For a moment we all believed he had gone crazy. I entered his mind to try and convince him that the villain wasn't there, but when I got in I saw more than I expected."

"Does this villain have a name?"

"Slade."

"Slade." He let the name roll over his tongue. "What was wrong with Robin?"

"Hallucinogenic dust." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "It made him see, hear, and feel Slade."

Bruce nodded. "So you learned my identity when you went into his mind?"

"No," Rachael admitted. "He blocked it from me. He blocked quite a bit. But I knew his identity and it was easy enough to put two and two together."

Bruce nodded.

"He told us he was coming to Gotham, but when he didn't come back we got worried."

"He never showed up here either."

Her heart sank. "So he's missing?"

"It seems that way."

A fly buzzed in front of her face and landed on the rim of her cup. She shooed it away and stared at Bruce, who still seemed void of emotion. He had told her Robin was missing like he was merely a lost sock in the laundry. Her eye twitched and the cup she was holding was momentarily encased in black energy before it shattered into a million pieces. Hot liquid poured down her front. She stood up quickly to avoid getting any tea on the expensive couch. Rachael glared at Bruce as if it was his fault, but she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I haven't had a chance to meditate today."

Sighing, Bruce left the room and returned a few minutes later with Alfred at his heels. The butler carried a stack of clothes in his arms. Directing Rachael to the bathroom, he handed her the clothes. She thanked him and was on her way. As she passed the main staircase, she was overwhelmed with the memory of a little boy with black hair and blue eyes sitting on the bottom step crying for his parents. The memory was not her own, it was Robin's.

Rachael turned into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She didn't bother to lock it because even though Bruce was creepy, he was not a _creeper. _Again she was surprised by the enormity of the room. It made her feel small and unwanted. She gently tugged off her shirt and nearly folded it, she did the same with her pants. A green washcloth sat on top of the pile. Dipping it in warm water, she rubbed the tea off of her body and deposited the washcloth in a laundry basket. The clothes Alfred had given her were a pair of Robin's old sweat pants and a black basketball t-shirt.

_Great, _she thought, _now I look even more out of place._

Upon her arrival, she found Bruce seated in the same position he had been previously and Alfred was chasing the pesky fly around the room with a rolled up newspaper. She quietly sat down and again apologized to Bruce and offered to replace the cup even though she didn't have the money, but he declined her offer.

"Do you have any idea as to who could have taken him?" she asked.

He shook his head. "All of Gotham's loons were locked up at the time of his kidnapping." Rachael cringed at the word _kidnapping._ "And it has been a month and I have yet to receive a ransom note. We have to assume-"

"No, you don't," Rachael said sharply. "I know he is still alive. I can feel it through our connection." Her tone was rising, but her anger remained level. "How could you give up on him? He's your son! And who is this _we _you speak of?"

"I haven't given up," Bruce spat back. "We just need to face the possibility that he may not be alive for much longer. And the _we _is the Justice League and me, his family."

Rachael was surprised at how fast he had gone from cool and collected to fierce and angry. She knew where Robin got his temper from. Alfred had the fly cornered and he was about to bring the newspaper down on it when it suddenly screamed and shifted into a human being. A green human being. Beast Boy gave a nervous laugh and sheepishly waved as the three other occupants of the room stared open mouthed at him. Fishing the ring Cyborg had given him out of his pocket, he slipped it on and his skin became normal colored and his hair turned light. Only his eyes remained green.

"Beast Boy!" Rachael exclaimed. "I told you to wait at the hotel!"

"First off, it's Gar. Second, I wasn't the only one who disobeyed your orders."

She took a deep breath and mentally counted backwards from ten. "Where are the others?"

"Well, Star is hiding under the couch cushions and Cy is that lamp over there," Garfield said sarcastically. "They're outside in the car!"

Bruce asked Alfred to bring the other two in and the old butler disappeared out the door. Rachael felt her face and neck warm up, she was so embarrassed by Garfield's actions. Shooting him a death glare, she again apologized to Bruce. Garfield sunk into the couch and promptly began complaining about the room having no TV, but he was quickly silenced by a smack to the back of the head from Rachael.

A few minutes later Starfire and Cyborg shuffled in, both in their civilian identities. Victor Stone, or Cyborg, had on a ring that made him look normal and he wore a grey sweat suit. Koriand'r, or Starfire, wore a pink miniskirt with a black Hollister shirt and high tops that Rachael had lent her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and if anyone were to ask her about her skin color, she was supposed to tell them she had a tanning accident.

"Please," Kori said to Bruce. "You are Robin's k'norfka?"

Bruce wasn't quite sure what she had said, but he understood enough. "I am Dick's legal guardian."

"Dick? Who is this 'Dick'?" she mused. "Is that not a human body part found specifically on males?"

"_Who _taught her that?" Rachael growled.

Victor and Garfield began to whistle casually and they refused to look at Rachael, who was ready to bash both of their heads in. Much to her surprise, Bruce calmly began to explain to her that Dick was short for Richard and Richard was Robin. So the big bad bat _did_ have a soft spot. They listened as he explained the car accident to them. Whomever it was kidnapped Dick Grayson, not Robin.

They couldn't have been more wrong.


	8. Free at Last

_I know I haven't updated in a while. Please accept my standard "I'm a lazy jerk" apology._

* * *

Leroy's life was just as bad as Dick's.

He had lost both of his parents at a young age, even younger than Dick had been when his parents were murdered. It's a funny thing, to be a little kid and have the whole world ripped from their fingers. Hilarious. The ache is unbearable. Orphaned children would wake up every morning wanting nothing more than their mother to run her fingers through their hair or have their father tell them that he loved them one last time.

Grace-Ann Peach had children young. She also died young. At the age of sixteen she had her first child, a boy, Leroy Jethro Gardner. At seventeen she married the baby's father, twenty-one year old Jared Michael Gardner. A year later, the young couple found they were pregnant with a second child, a little girl whom they named Jennifer Paige Gardner.

Jared, though considerably older than Grace-Ann, was not a bad man. He loved his wife and children unconditionally and would do anything for them. He was clean, he had never done anything bad until he had been caught messing around with the Peach girl. In a way, it was the best accident that had ever happened to him. He loved Leroy and Jenny more than life itself, he would die for them. Truth be told, he wanted more children, but Grace-Ann had set the limit at two.

Grace-Ann on the other hand, was not a good person. She had a history of drug abuse and cutting, which doesn't necessarily make one a bad person, but theft does. She had started out with shoplifting, then it became grand theft auto. She and James, her boyfriend, had stolen a police cruiser and drove it all the way from Pennsylvania to New York, where they had sunk it in Darien Lake. Grace-Ann made Jared wait on her hand and foot during the day, catering to her every need. She repaid him by betraying him and partying with James every night. She was indifferent to Leroy and Jenny. She didn't feed them, bathe them, tuck them in, or tell them she loved them. That was Jared's job. She could really care less if they lived or died.

One night, lost in their delirium of drug induced hallucinations, James and Grace-Ann decided to play Russian roulette. They sat in a dusty apartment that had been abandoned for years, only to be broken into by two druggies. Seven guns were laid out before them. Earlier in the night, they had James' friend Mason put a bullet in one of them. All the guns were identical. Each was small, no bigger than a Gameboy, and silver with a six chamber revolver.

James' hand hovered over the guns and he closed his eyes as if he were trying to find the one with the best aura. Finally he chose the second to last on the right. He carefully pulled the hammer back and placed the cold round tip to his temple. With one last longing glance at Grace-Ann, he pulled the trigger only to receive a click indicating the gun wasn't loaded.

Grace-Ann breathed in a lungful of weed smoke and giggled loudly. She pressed her lips hard against James', his tongue slipped through her lips and explored every nook and cranny in her mouth. Soon they were on the floor, laughing so hard they thought a lung would come up. After they settled down, Grace-Ann selected her gun without much though and placed it to her temple and continued to giggle.

A gunshot rang out and Grace-Ann fell limply to the ground with the gun still in her hand. Blood and bits of brain splattered onto the floor and onto James' shocked face. He emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor next to the still corpse of Grace-Ann. He quickly stood up and made a mad dash for the door. His girlfriend killing herself wasn't worth being arrested for drug possession, drug use, and using guns without a permit. Grace-Ann's body lay in the apartment for three days before a homeless man stumbled upon it and called the police. When it was found, maggots had already begun to eat the flesh of the dead woman.

Leroy had been six at the time of his mother's death. Jenny had been four. They grieved, but not as much as they would have if it had been their father who died. Jared Gardner had not taken the death of his wife well. He would sit up late at night and drown his sorrows in large amounts of booze while quietly calling out his wife's name. To put it simply, Jared was like a duck, he could never love again. Even his children became less important to him.

Everything went downhill when the police discovered the affair between James and Grace-Ann. Jared, exceedingly distraught over his wife's betrayal, neglected Leroy and Jenny. He spent all his time plotting ways to kill James. After the police learned of Jared's issues, they set a date to have the children removed from the unstable environment. But no one was prepared for what happened next.

Leroy held Jenny's small hand in his own. Rubbing sleep out of their blurry eyes, they walked into the kitchen to find their dad at the table sipping beer and smoking a cigar. The smell of alcohol and tobacco was so strong that their eyes watered. They wanted to hightail it back into the safety of their bedroom, but they didn't for their father had called them out to the kitchen and they both knew they had to obey their father. Jared talked nonsense to himself for a while before realizing Jenny and Leroy had arrived. He pulled a small silver gun seemingly out of nowhere and aimed it at them. He launched into a speech they didn't quite understand, but they got the gist of it.

He was going to kill them.

Leroy yanked Jenny towards the door, but it was too late. The gun went off and Leroy fell flat on his face. The bullet had torn through his back and came out his chest. Jenny hesitated a moment and that was all it took. Jared fired a bullet at her and it hit her right between the eyes. Through his darkening vision, Leroy watched his sister tumble to the ground like a ton of bricks. He also saw his father put a bullet in his own brain. Then he let the darkness consume him.

"A neighbor heard the gunshots and called the police. After I was released from the hospital, I was thrown into an abusive orphanage. I ran away when I was nine and have been a wanderer ever since," Leroy finished.

Dick couldn't bring himself to look at Leroy. Both of them had tragic pasts that haunted their every waking moment. Their pasts were heavy bags that weighed them down. A lone ant wandered along the floor of the train car. It was alone, like Dick. But Dick wasn't alone anymore. He had Leroy and they were well on their way to Star City where they would find Oliver Queen and be safe. He planned on returning to the tower with Leroy and allowing the older boy to stay with him and his team until details could be worked out.

Surprisingly, Dick was very open with the wanderer. He had no problem telling him about his past or his secrets. Leroy understood everything he said. He didn't try to comfort him or tell him everything was okay, because it wasn't. He had pretty much told Dick to rub some dirt in it and move on. He didn't give empty promises or lies. He just said to leave the past behind and live in the present. That is exactly what Dick did.

"I'm hungry," Dick complained. And then he added, "Ugh, I sound like Wally."

"Who's Wally?"

"A close friend of mine."

A smirk crossed Leroy's face. "Aww, Dickie, you don't have to lie to me. I know you don't have any friends."

"Stuff it," Dick said with a chuckle. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Nah, we'll grab something when we get to Star."

"Do you have any money?"

"Yeah," he said sarcastically. "Just let me check into the First National Bank of I'm Broke."

"Are you proposing that we steal?" he asked, shocked.

"Don't think me lame for quoting this, but," Leroy took a deep breath, "'Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat.'"

"'Otherwise, we'd get along.'"

"Man, when was the last time you ate?"

Dick thought for a moment before answering. "I had a bowl of soup yesterday morning."

"You're nothing but skin and bones!"

He stared down at his body. He _was _skin and bones. Sometime in the night, he had taken off his sweatshirt and tied it around his waist. Pulling up the hem of his too big t-shirt, he examined his stomach. It was caved in, it almost looked like a bowl. His ribs stuck out much too far for his liking, he could count every one. He had lost a lot of muscle due to the fact that he didn't train regularly. Hunger pains ripped through his stomach and a dull moan escaped his lips. He was starving, literally.

He was hungry, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to resort to stealing in order to be fed. He had stolen before under Slade, and he had both liked and hated it. The thrill was like that of riding a roller coaster, but the guilt that followed in its wake was too much for him to bear. Slade had tried to teach him how to use a gun, he had much bigger plans than just stealing.

Leroy stood up and moved to the open door of the car. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"To jump," he said like it was the most normal thing in the universe. "The train isn't stopping in Star."

Dick wearily stood up and made his way to Leroy, adjusting his feet to the way the train car moved so he didn't do a face plant. The thought of jumping out of a moving train sent an electric thrill through his body. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He wanted to jump, he was ready to go. As Robin he had jumped out of many odd things, including burning buildings, cars, helicopters, even a thirtieth story window. But never had he jumped out of a train.

Leroy felt it unnecessary to teach Dick the proper way to jump, he was Robin after all. Bending his knees, Leroy launched himself out of the train and hit the ground with a thump. His body ached, but he didn't give himself time to recover. He jumped to his feet and ran alongside the train, screaming at Dick to jump.

Taking a deep breath, Dick bent his knees and jumped. He was smoothly soaring through the air when a tree popped up seemingly out of nowhere. Tucking his body into a ball, he planted his feet on the tree and pushed off hard. Suddenly, he was tumbling through brush and sharp rocks down a steep slope. He cried out as a jagged rock cut a large red line into his cheek. Throwing his hands out to try and stop himself proved to be a fruitless effort because it only left his body open.

Leroy stood in utter shock as he watched the terribly scene play out before his eyes. Dick was falling. His body twisted in strange shapes as he bounced down the hill, hitting every bush and rock on the way down. Finally he lay still at the bottom. Leroy slid down the slope calling his name, but he never received an answer.

His body lie motionless, all four of his limbs stretched out as if they were reaching for something. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth and the many other wounds he had received on his way down. Leroy lightly ran his hands over the younger boy's body, looking for any broken bones. The paleness of Dick's skin terrified him. He searched his brain and tried to remember if he had always been that pale, but his memory failed him.

"Come on, Dick!" Leroy practically screamed. "We're almost there. Come on, all we gotta do now is find Queen."

Dick remained still. Leroy dropped to his knees and places his head on the young hero's seemingly unmoving chest. He heard his shaky lungs draw in air and the dull thump of his heart beating. The sound was so beautiful it nearly brought tears to his eyes. The small boy moaned and his blue eyes fluttered open. The world was blurry, but he could make out the shape of Leroy.

The older boy was moving too fast. Dick promptly turned his head and vomited what little was in his stomach. He heaved, but he had nothing left to throw up. Leroy pushed his raven bangs out of his face and began to speak, but Dick couldn't make out what he was saying. He was numb all over, but feeling was slowly coming back to him. One feeling in particular: pain.

"'m…ired…" he moaned.

"You gotta stay awake, Dickie. You may have a concussion."

"'ired, Roy…"

Leroy didn't know if he was referring to another Roy or if he had mispronounced his name. It didn't matter either way. He gripped Dick's shoulders and a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air. A large rock stuck out of his shoulder and he whimpered. Tears trailed down his face, mixing with his blood and turning the salty tears a rosy pink. Leroy warned Dick that he was going to move him and another earthshattering scream rocked the world.

He moved Dick into a sitting position and lightly tugged his blue t-shirt over his head. Leroy almost threw up himself when he saw Dick's body. He was far too skinny for a boy his age and size, but it was the bruises and cuts that got to Leroy. They were everywhere, marring his perfect porcelain skin. He used the already bloody shirt to wipe off more blood from Dick's shaking body. The rock that stuck out of his shoulder wasn't in very deep, so he pulled it out. Instead of screaming again, the young acrobat passed out altogether.

Leroy took off his own shirt and put it on Dick's too small body. His shoulder would need stitches. He was grateful the younger boy had passed out for he didn't want to cause him anymore pain. He gently picked up Dick and slid him onto his back. Grabbing a nearby stone, he started his long climb up. Pebbles imbedded in his hands, making the climb that much more difficult, but he didn't care. His only concern was getting Dick to safety. Every once in a while, the raven haired boy would moan or stir, but he remained asleep. Leroy would have to wake him as soon as they got to the top. It was not a good idea to let a possible concussed patient to sleep.

He pulled himself and Dick up over the edge and stumbled over the railroad tracks. Laying him against a tree, Leroy began to shake Dick awake.

"Dick, you need to wake up." He didn't stir. "Come on, Grayson, this is a life or death situation."

Slowly his eyes began to open. "Roy….?"

"Yeah, it's me," Leroy replied, still not sure if Dick had mispronounced his name.

"Wha….happened?" he slurred.

"We were on our way to see Oliver Queen, jumped out of a train, and you fell pretty hard."

Realization dawned upon Dick. "Leroy…."

"Hold still, I'm gonna get you to a hospital."

"No!" Dick suddenly shouted. After he calmed down he said, "No…get me to Ollie…"

Dick's head throbbed and he wanted to go to sleep, but awareness had come back to him. His tongue was heavy and thick, he found it extremely hard to form words. His legs didn't want to work right, but he could walk with help from Leroy, a lot of help. The world rocked back and forth like a boat on the ocean. It made him sick to his stomach, but when his body tried to vomit only acid came up.

They walked along a road that led into the city and tried to wave down cars that passed by, but nobody wanted to stop for the two boys that looked like they had been mauled by bears. Finally a small red Ford truck pulled over for them. A young blonde sat at the wheel and a young brunette man who looked like a football player sat next to her. Fishing gear was in the back, but both boys suspected something other than fishing had happened.

"Are you guys okay?" the blonde asked. "What happened?"

"We were walking through the woods checking our traps when we branched off from each other. A few minutes later, I heard my brother screaming," Leroy lied.

"He's your brother?"

"I got the looks," he said with a small smile, "But we both got momma's eyes."

The answer seemed to satisfy the blonde. She gestured for them to get in and they graciously complied. Dick leaned his head against Leroy's shoulder and closed his eyes. Everything was so blurry and nothing made sense, but he trusted Leroy to take care of him. The football player studied them in the rearview mirror with a worried expression, the youngest of the two boys wasn't looking so good.

"What are your names?"

Leroy was quick to reply. "I'm Brandon. And my brother's name is Landon."

"Ooh! Rhyming names!" the blonde exclaimed.

He gave a short laugh. "It's better than the names Dad picked out. Sodapop and Ponyboy. Yeah, we're not going to get beat up with _those _names."

"I wish I had a cool name. Christine is so boring," she said, eying her boyfriend. "But at least it's better than Chuck."

Chuck wasn't buying any of it. Landon and Brandon most definitely sounded like fake names. What kind of parent would be cruel enough to give their kids rhyming names anyway? The kid with the black hair could have just murdered someone for all he knew. Slowly, so Brandon wouldn't see, Chuck opened the glove box and removed a gun. The two boys were too vague for his liking. He couldn't be too careful.

"Hey, kid," he said. "What happened to you?"

"The guys…" Dick slurred, "…'ook my 'oney…"

"We need to get you to a hospital!" Christine squealed.

"Not 'ecessary….stop here…"

The car slowed to a stop and Leroy was mildly surprised to learn they were already well into the city. Why Dick told Chuck and Christine to stop where he did, he would never know. The streets were empty, no watching eyes peeped through broken windows. The city block looked to be a high crime area, but it was dead. Leroy couldn't quite understand why criminals weren't all over the place. Had some terrible accident occurred?

He would never know.

Leroy helped Dick out of the truck and the younger boy hissed in pain, but otherwise said nothing. His head was beginning to clear and his speech was less impaired, but he still needed Leroy's help in order to walk. They watched as Chuck and Christine sped off, happy to get rid of the strange boys. Dick instructed Leroy to go into an alley off to their right and the older boy reluctantly complied. Even if it was a ghost town, it still gave him the creeps. The alley led to a dead end, a phone booth sat in the far corner and a garbage container sat parallel to it. Other than that, it was empty.

"Call 411…" Dick instructed. "And call Ollie…"

"Do you have a quarter?"

"Check the coin slot…"

He gently removed Dick's arm from around his shoulder and moved him so he was leaning against the alley wall. Leroy slowly made his way to the phone booth. What was going to happen to him after Dick was saved? Surely he wouldn't leave Leroy to rot on the streets. He quickly shook the thought out of his head. They were friends. He had saved Dick's life and Dick trusted him with his secret identity.

A cry of pain brought Leroy back into the real world. His head snapped up to see Dick lying on the ground with his hands tied behind his back, his face was pressed into the pavement and he was saying something Leroy couldn't quite comprehend. Forgetting about the phone, he ran to the young acrobat's side and gently rolled him over. His eyes were filled with fear and focused on something just over the older boy's shoulder. Turning to see what it was, Leroy received a hard blow to the face. His lip split open and blood spilled out of it as if it were anxious to escape. Above him stood a man with an orange and black mask, his sole eye took Leroy in and a dark chuckle rose in his throat. He kicked him in the chest and the boy cried out in pain.

"Are you ready to go?" Slade asked.

"No," Dick sobbed, "P…Please let us be…."

Slade stepped over Leroy and seized Dick by the throat. At that point, the young raven haired boy was shaking uncontrollably. It was obvious he deeply feared the masked man. Tears spilled from his eyes and he begged Slade to let them go, but it only brought a sense of authority to the man. Slowly crawling backwards, Leroy's hand found a metal pipe. He could save Dick.

Gripping the pipe like a baseball bat, Leroy jumped to his feet and rushed at Slade. The pipe hit him between the shoulder blades. For a moment all three stood in shocked silence, then Slade dropped Dick and turned to Leroy. Ripping the pipe from his grasp, he brought it against the left side of his head, cutting it in the process. Leroy's head rang and he didn't have time to recover as the pipe was brought down on his knee. He screamed in pure pain as he felt the bones shatter. He heard Dick shout his name, but he couldn't call back for Slade had hit him on the head so hard he had bitten off part of his tongue.

Blood gushed from his mouth as he sobbed into the pavement. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Slade pick up Dick and smash the back of his head into the alley wall. His small body slid to the ground where he received a kick to the chest. Leroy closed his eyes, unable to take anymore, but the sound was just as bad as the sight, if not worse. Dick was screaming for Bruce, several members of his team, and an assortment of names Leroy didn't recognize. His hands found their way into his hair as Dick began to scream for help. He hated himself for being so weak and useless.

His eyes snapped open when the screaming stopped. Dick lay in a bloody heap at his feet, sobs racked his body and his eyes had seemed to lose all of their spark. He was begging Slade not to do something, but the masked man was nowhere to be seen and then he knew what Dick was begging him not to do. His neck shattered into a million pieces as the cool metal pipe was brought down upon it. And then he felt it.

Death had come for him.

* * *

_Excuse me while I go drown in my own tears over that ending. Charlie is pretty much a soulless jerk. But of course, I knew ever since Charlie told me about the character of Leroy that he was going to die, and I ended up getting attached to him anyway because I'm stupid._

_Anyway...I promise I will post chaper 9 soon. Possibly Monday, if I remember._


	9. Caught on Tape

_I actually updated when I said I would for once! Granted, it is almost 10 at night here, but it's still Monday. I hope you all take this into account, as I will probably not be doing that again. Also, I hope that instead of the usual Dick angst, you will accept Roy Harper/Speedy angst in its place._

* * *

Of all the things he could have done after the death of his family, he resorted to drugs. Heroin, namely. He could have become an arsonist and set fires, like the fire that killed his father. But by doing drugs, he was hurting himself and no one else. Sure, if he overdosed he would hurt his friends and family, but they would eventually move on. Being a hero, he was supposed to save people and not hurt them, but who was to say a hero couldn't harm themselves? He knew for a fact that Ollie had drunken himself to sleep on more than one occasion. But since Dinah had come into their lives, he had been a changed man. He couldn't even begin to think how Ollie would react if he ever found out he was doing heroin.

Roy Harper stared, mesmerized at the transparent brown liquid that sloshed around inside the syringe. It was almost the color of whisky. It lapped around like the ocean after a terrible storm. He sat in a dusty apartment where he came when he wanted to take heroin. He couldn't stand the thought of being found by anyone he loved.

Heroin was a depressant and he didn't understand why he took it. He had been doing so well, but then Dick had disappeared and the depression returned. Hot salty tears welled up in his eyes as a picture of Dick's mangled body appeared in his head. It had been over a month and they had absolutely no leads. The adults kept their heads held high and always said positive things, but Roy could read between the lines. They thought he was dead. He wasn't sure what he thought. The odds were not on his side, but Dick was never one for the odds.

_Dick and Wally, _Roy thought, _my stupid, bratty, wonderful little brothers._

Since Dick's disappearance, Roy had been very protective of Wally. He had already lost one brother and he wasn't going to lose another. He called Wally at least three times a week to make sure the younger boy was okay. Wally was oblivious to the pitied glances the adults would give him. At first he had taken the news hard, but then he became determined that they would find Dick alive and well. Roy decided it was a good thing the speedster was full of hope because it was quickly dying within the League and maybe, just maybe, Wally had enough for all of them.

"Oh, Dickie," he said to no one in particular, "Where are you?"

Roy disinfected his arm with a wipe and placed the tip of the needle to a big blue vein in his arm. Suddenly a green gloved hand shot out and gripped his wrist so tightly he thought he was going to lose circulation. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. An almost musical voice danced through the air to meet his ears.

"Don't do it, Harper."

Roy lifted his head to see a violet, green, and cream cat mask staring down at him. Cheshire snatched the syringe from his hand and threw it across the room where it shattered. He stared at the brown liquid as it snaked down the wall. Resting his head in his hands, he sighed and cleared his head. Dick wouldn't want him to waste his life away on drugs. Standing up, he took Cheshire in his arms. Tugging her mask off, he carelessly discarded it onto the couch.

The beautiful face of Jade Nguyen stared back at him. She had sparkling hazel eyes and an untamable mane of black hair. Models would kill for a body and face like hers, but Roy was just glad she was his. He gently kissed her, momentarily sucking on her bottom lip when she suddenly pulled away.

"I thought you stopped."

"So did I," he replied, sighing, "It's just with everything going on…."

"Robin needs you to stay strong."

Roy lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. "Thank you, Jade. For everything. If I ever go back to drugs, you have permission to beat me to a bloody pulp."

"I may take you up on that offer," she said with a smirk. "Have you told the _good guys _about us?"

"Not yet."

"Good, because I haven't told the _bad guys _yet. If I did, I'd probably get maimed."

His face suddenly took on a serious tone and he pulled Jade down onto the couch. He loved her and it was so _wrong. _Jade and heroin, his dirty little secrets. She pushed him back and crawled on top of him, kissing every inch of his face. His arms locked around her waist and they fell over sideways. Laying there for several moments in silence, Jade stroked Roy's chin and whispered words to him that sent his soul soaring.

"I may have found a lead on Robin. It's not much, but it's more than the League has."

"Is he alive?"

She hesitated. "Don't get your hopes up, Harper. All my information is from the grapevine."

"Is he _alive?"_

"If my information is correct, yes."

"Spill."

"Word on the street is Deathstroke's been looking for an apprentice, someone to take up his mantle. Now it might just be the baddies trying to connect the Boy Wonder's disappearance to something, but everyone thinks Deathstroke picked Robin to be his heir."

"Who is Deathstroke?"

"Only the world's greatest mercenary! Ugh! I would kill to train under him." Seeing the face Roy made, she steered the conversation in a new direction. "He must see Robin as a challenge. From what you've told me, Robin is very strong willed. Deathstroke wants to be the one to break him and turn him into a bloodthirsty killer."

Roy swore under his breath. "That's not much to go on."

"It's more than the League has found out," she again pointed out. "Don't get too excited before I look into it more."

He opened his mouth to tell her the thought of Dick becoming a bloodthirsty killer terrified him more than him being dead, but he was cut off by the sound of "Don't Stop Believn'"playing. Sitting up so fast that he nearly knocked Jade off the couch, Roy fished his cellphone out of his pocket and winced as he read the name. Ollie. He motioned for Jade to be quiet and he hit the talk button.

"Hello?"

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for the past fifteen minutes," came Ollie's angry voice. "Where is your comm link?"

"Must have left it in my gym bag."

That wasn't a complete lie. His gym bag sat in the corner of the room and he was positive his communicator was in it, he just hadn't heard it over him and Jade talking. The assassin calmly walked over to the bag, pulled out the communicator, and tossed it to Roy.

"I got it here. What do you need?"

Ollie sighed. "I sent you a video, it's pretty gruesome. I need you to identify one of the boys in the video."

"What's this about?" Roy asked suspiciously.

"Just watch the video."

Sighing, he sat his phone down and put it on speaker. He hesitantly flipped open the communicator and the screen flickered to life. An icon appeared, telling him he had a new video message. Pressing a button, the video began to play. A camera was zoomed in on an alley with only a dumpster and a phone booth in it. It looked to be downtown Star City.

Two boys walked—no, it was more like limped—into the alley. One had brown hair and the other had black. Roy couldn't see their faces, but he could see the kid with the black hair was in bad shape. He had cuts and bruises all over his body. He took in a sharp breath when the boy leaned against the wall. It was Dick! He felt Cheshire stiffen beside him when a third person walked on screen. He was tall and wore an orange and black mask. Roy nearly jumped out of his seat when the man kicked Dick and tied his hands behind him. The other boy, who had been standing at the phone booth, suddenly attacked the man. After the man in the mask finished beating the ever living daylights out of him, he moved back to Dick.

Roy had to look away, he felt he owed it to Dick. Cheshire gently turned his face back to the screen, where the man in the mask gave a final blow to the unnamed boy and dragged Dick off. His face paled and it took all his willpower not to cry in front of Cheshire. Dick was alive. Not well, but alive. He wanted to weep for joy and tell the whole world his little brother was alive, but instead he stared at the blank screen of his communicator with an equally blank look.

And then Jade's lips were at his ear. "That man was Deathstroke," she whispered.

"Roy," came Ollie's voice. "Roy, are you there?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Was the kid Dick?"

"Yes," Roy said, his voice breaking.

Ollie sighed. "At least we know he's alive."

He couldn't bring himself to answer.

"Look, Roy, Dick is a strong kid. He'll make it. I don't know him as well as you and Wally, but-"

"Did you show this to him?" he demanded.

"What?"

Anger flared within him. "Did you show Wally this video?"

"No," Ollie stuttered. "You, me, and the SCPD are the only ones who've seen this. I'm sorry you had to see it, but like I said, I needed someone to identify Dick before I showed this to Bruce."

"Just keep it away from Wally, the Titans, and Barry. He can't keep his godda-"

"Watch your language," he snapped.

"My point is that Barry can't keep his mouth shut." He eyed Jade. "I've got to go."

He hung up without waiting for a response from Ollie. Taking Jade in his arms, he leaned in for another kiss, but she pulled away at the last second. He watched as she placed the cat mask back on her face, once again becoming Cheshire the teenaged assassin. She folded her arms over her chest and Roy could tell she was smirking under her mask.

"I would have never guessed the Grayson kid was Robin."

"That's the point."

Roy's mind wandered back to the video. He knew who had Robin, but how could he tell anyone without giving up his dirty secret? If what Cheshire had told him was true, then Deathstroke was a nasty guy and getting Robin back wouldn't be a cakewalk. He watched as Cheshire moved to the dirty window and opened it. As she was climbing out, he caught her hand and pulled her back in.

"I need to go," she said. "I'll need to get more information on Deathstroke if we have any hope of saving your friend from becoming an assassin."

"You're an assassin," Roy pointed out.

"That is true," Cheshire agreed. "But you love me. The question is: Can you love Dick as an assassin?"

He had no answer.


	10. Consequences

A person who aids a crime is just as guilty as the person who carries it out. But what if the person unknowingly aids the crime? Nope, they were still guilty, at least in Dick's mind. He was a criminal. No, worse…he was a murderer. He may not have given Leroy the final blow, but he was just as guilty for his death as Slade was. What was he thinking, involving Leroy in his complicated life? It was practically a death sentence. He'd been so stupid in running away. He should have known Slade was going to come after him. It would be just as effective to hang himself right then and there.

Thunder boomed and lightning cracked momentarily, illuminating the dark basement to reveal the small form of Dick huddled on the floor. His clothes had been torn. He curled into himself, trying to find some warmth but the effort seemed fruitless. He had long since become numb to the aches and pains that had accompanied his accident with the train, but the fresh wounds he received from Slade's most recent beating hurt like salt water poured upon a wound.

Even though he could see the sun through the basement windows, he had lost track of time. He lost count after three days, but it didn't matter. Slade had left him there to die. He wasn't given food, water, or warmth. To keep himself alive, he drank from a leaky pipe that expelled dirty water. His stomach was no longer concave, but bloated from lack of nutrients. It was only a matter of time before his hair began to die and turn a rusty color. The thought of hanging himself momentarily flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. He wasn't ready to die.

The rain came down in sheets outside, taunting him with the clean water he had been cruelly denied. Why hadn't Slade killed him in the alley where Leroy died? He knew why. Slade wanted to make him suffer, he wanted him to die slowly while he laughed at his pain. Would Wintergreen allow it? Probably not, but there was nothing that could be done at that point. Dick estimated he had less than forty-eight hours to live, he had gone far too long without food. He wondered if Slade would bury him in the woods or if he would send his body back to Bruce or the Titans. He would've liked to have been buried beside his parents. He always knew he would die young, but he could never have imagined he would die _that _young.

His body was terribly weak. He could hardly drag himself to the leaky pipe, let alone walk. At first he had used the far right corner to do his business in, but after his body became too weak, he had given up altogether. Maybe Slade would have the decency to clean off his body after he died. Uncurling himself, Dick stuck his hands on the floor and inched himself to the pipe. He would have just stayed by it, but it made him even colder than he already was. Taking a sip of the dirty water, he sighed in pleasure, it soothed his aching throat.

Suddenly the basement doors swung open and rain poured in on Dick. Lightning flashed, illuminating the figure in the doorway like a scene from a horror movie. He cowered in the corner as Slade strode towards him. That was it, he was going to die. The masked man kicked Dick in the face, smiling as he heard the satisfying snap of his nose breaking. Blood gushed onto the floor and Dick's hand rushed to cover his bleeding nose. Both were surprised to hear laughter bursting out of the young acrobat's mouth. Slade grabbed him roughly by the arms and held him against the wall until his laughter died down.

"Go ahead, kill me," he said. "Go on, break my neck like you did Leroy's."

Dick was silenced by a harsh slap to the face. Slade let go of the boy and kicked him in the ribs. A cough tore out of his throat and blood bubbled out of his mouth. The masked man didn't seem to notice. Winding his hands in Dick's hair, he dragged him to the other side of the room. He whimpered as the roots of his hair were torn from the flesh of his head. He lashed out, but did no damage for his body was too weak.

Clamping iron bracelets onto Dick's too small wrists, Slade hoisted him onto the wall. The pain that shot through his shoulder was like tongues of fire eating away at his muscle and bone. Moaning in agony, he watched as Slade lit a match and threw it into a heater that stood parallel to the spot where he chose to relieve himself. A door stood off to the left and another stood to the right. He knew that training equipment was in the left, but Slade had never allowed him to enter the right. When he had first been deposited in the forsaken basement, he had found both doors to be locked and decided it hadn't been worth his time to break them down.

Dick again laughed. "You're going to kill me now because you got what you wanted. Isn't that right?" Slade's only answer was silence, so he continued. "I'm going to Hell, just like you said. I'm going to Hell because I killed Leroy."

Slade was surprised that he didn't have to convince the boy that Leroy's death was his fault. He had already accepted it. He placed an iron poker into the heater as Dick rambled on. Had he broken the boy? Surely Robin the Boy Wonder couldn't be broken by a mere week in a dark basement without food. No, it wasn't lack of food nor light that was getting to him. It was murder. The very thought of murder played with Dick's mind in a bad way. Slade would need to change that. Being a mercenary's apprentice, he would need to get used to getting his hands dirty.

Hit by a sudden wave of dizziness, Dick's head lulled to the side and he threw up, but nothing came up but a splash of stomach acid and blood. Groaning, he tilted his head back and pressed it to the cool concrete of the basement wall. Why wouldn't Slade just end it? He jumped when the basement doors again swung open. Wintergreen sprinted down the stairs, soaked to the bone from the rain.

"He cannot survive-"

"He is my apprentice. I will do as I wish with him."

"Listen to reason," Wintergreen begged. "Give him time to recover and-"

"_You listen,_" his voice was anger covered by a sheet of ice. "You owe your life to me. Now retrieve my whip."

Dick felt nauseated. They were discussing his life. Whatever Slade planned to do with a whip couldn't be good, and he highly doubted he had lit the heater to warm up the basement. He felt a surge of gratitude towards Wintergreen, the old man was fighting for _his _life. Over the time Dick had spent with Slade and Wintergreen, he learned that they respected each other very much. Not once had he heard Slade raise his voice towards the older man, but he seemed extremely agitated that day.

"Do you want him to end up like Grant?"

He only had a moment to wonder who Grant was before Slade pulled his hand back and struck Wintergreen. The old man shrunk into the corner. He had struck a nerve inside of Slade. He shouldn't have said what he did, it just slipped out. He watched as Slade disappeared into the room on the right and reappeared moments later, carrying a whip at his side.

All the air was sucked out of Dick's lungs when he saw Slade pull a rod from the heater. He twisted his body this way and that to try and escape, but it was of no use. Tears threatened to spill over, but he blinked them back, refusing to show weakness. As Slade walked closer, he could see an 'S' with a circle around it glowing red at the end of the rod.

"Please!" he screamed. "Please don't, I'll do whatever you want!"

"You should have thought of that _before _you ran away."

Dick screamed in agony as the hot metal made contact with the exposed flesh just above his heart. The skin bubbled and blistered into the shape at the end of the rod. His back arched and he tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for him to go. Finally, Slade pulled the hot metal away and Dick's body relaxed. The only thing holding him up at that point was the chains that held him to the wall. Tears streamed down his face and his breath came out in ragged gasps.

Slade raised his whip to strike Dick, but mid-swing he remembered Wintergreen's words and stopped himself, but it was too late. Dick screamed as the whip caught him in the face. A large gash formed over his right eye and he choked on a sob. Slade dropped the whip. All the rage he felt had dissipated and he simply walked away, leaving Dick and Wintergreen alone in the basement.

And then Dick said something he hadn't said in nearly two years, or more like sobbed. "I want Bruce."

Wintergreen quickly undid the boy's restraints and caught him before he hit the ground. Gently laying him down on the floor, he began to examine his wounds. Luckily the cut over his eye did no damage to the eye itself, but it would need stitches. The burn on his chest would need constant tending to in order to keep it from infection. Both would scar. Slowly picking Dick up, Wintergreen ascended the stairs and entered the yard. The young acrobat sighed as the cool rain washed over his wounds.

The old man gently tugged open the glass door and walked straight through the kitchen into the living room where he deposited Dick on the couch. For a moment he debated on whether he should get the boy food or medicine first. In the end, he popped a Hot Pocket in the microwave and pulled the first aid kit from on top of the refrigerator. Walking back into the living room, he found Dick collapsed on the floor.

"Dick, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Where is Slade?"

"I believe he has left for the evening."

"Can I have my mask?"

Wintergreen hesitated. He couldn't tell if Dick was avoiding his original question, or if he was incapable of answering. Slade had done a number on him, both mentally and physically. Dick's face was sunken in and dark circles rimmed his eyes. His hair was in dire need of a cut and he really needed clean clothes. He tried not to look at the boy's bloated stomach, but he couldn't help it. Dick Grayson was dying of starvation.

In that moment he decided he would not allow Slade to use starvation as a punishment again. Dick was already too small for his age, but after what he had been put through he was practically withering away. Picking up the boy again, Wintergreen noticed how light he was. Gently carrying him to the couch, he laid him down and began to patch up his wounds.

"Now why were you on the floor?"

Dick scrunched up his face as if he couldn't remember. "I was trying to get that book I've been reading."

"What book?"

"Umm..." he trailed off when he heard the ding from the microwave. "Are you making food?"

A small smile danced across his face. "I hope you like ham and cheese."

"It could be an elephant for all I care."

"It may very well be. Stop fussing over that book. We're going to patch you up, get some food in you, and then you're getting some much needed rest."

"No bath?"

"No bath," Wintergreen confirmed. "You can bathe after a good night's rest."

Dick settled himself into a sitting position. He was hungry, but the smell of the Hot Pocket made him sick to his stomach. When the food was sat down in front of him, he ate it faster than Kid Flash could ever dream of moving. He ignored Wintergreen when he told him he would get sick. He just couldn't help it, he was so hungry. Yelping, he clutched his stomach. It felt like he had been stabbed with a heated knife.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Dick managed. "Stomach pains."

"How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know, considering I haven't been allowed to keep track of time," he snapped. "How long have I been here anyway? A year? Two?"

"Nearly two months."

"Two months then."

"What?"

"The stomach pains. They started just before I left Jump."

"A stomach ulcer, maybe?"

"I think," he admitted. "Look, can you just patch me up? I want to go to bed."

Sighing, Wintergreen smoothed ointment over the branded 'S' on Dick's chest, ignoring his gasp of pain that was immediately followed by a sigh of relief. Slade had gone too far in Wintergreen's opinion. The beatings Dick had received were bad enough, but this was torture. Putting rubbing alcohol on a handkerchief, he dabbed at the cut across the boy's eye. He had been lucky. Had his reflexes not kicked in, Dick would have lost his eye.

Dick closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the couch tightly, trying to avoid scrunching up his face. He grunted as Wintergreen poked the needle through his flesh to sew his skin back together. It hurt, but he had had worse injuries. He had to breathe through his mouth due to his broken nose.

"I'm going to set your nose on three."

"On three," Dick agreed.

"One…"

Dick screamed as Wintergreen snapped his nose back into place, a fresh stream of blood quickly following. The old man tapped his nose and stood back to admire his handiwork as the boy grumbled. Gently wiping the blood from his nose, he helped him to his feet and the two limped down the hallway into Dick's bedroom where Wintergreen laid him down.

"What happened to two and three," came Dick's delayed response.

"They got scared and ran away when they realized what I was going to do."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Wintergreen was already gone. He heard soft snores and the rustling of blankets coming from the room beside his. Had he passed out? He must have. He rolled over and looked at the clock. It was a little over one in the morning, so he rolled back over and allowed the bliss of unconsciousness to settle over him once again. He was stuck in the no man's land between sleep and awake where everything blurred together and calmed his active brain.

He was vaguely aware of his door creaking open and a dark figure walking in. Normally, he would have already been on his feet in a fighting stance, but neither his body nor brain cared about the new arrival. He twitched slightly as a warm hand ghosted over his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Sighing, he found himself leaning into the hand. It brought him comfort he had not had in two months. He didn't want the moment to end, but sadly it did.

"G'night, Bruce," he murmured.

He heard a light chuckle before he fell into a peaceful dreamless sleep. The next morning, he could hardly remember the events of the previous day. The thing that was completely clear was the pain he had endured. He had been wrong, Slade had wanted him alive so he could be his apprentice and do his dirty work. Slade wasn't going to kill him.

And somehow that thought depressed Dick further.

* * *

_I'm a bit concerned that Slade was too harsh/creepy in this chapter. Anyway...I'll hopefully have the next chapter up soon. I've been trying to type more often because I don't know how often I'll be able to update once school starts._

_Please continue to leave awesome reviews!_


	11. Dead End

_So I think updates might possibly slow for a while. Charlie only has up to chapter 15 written, so it's actually not my fault for once. Anyway, I guess I should give you some background on this chapter. So we got a review on chapter two, and the reviewer wondered where Ollie was during the JL Christmas dinner. Me and Charlie came up with this story that he had to go on a mission in which he had to dress in drag. This is referenced near the end of the chapter._

_Also, I forgot to mention something last chapter. A reviewer asked why Dick was short for Richard. I have no idea and I don't feel like googling it, so it'll just be added to the long list of things I'll never understand. So I asked my mom about it and she told me, "It doesn't matter if his given name is Richard, every man has been called Dick at some point in his life." My mother is a very wise lady._

* * *

The coil unwound itself agonizingly slow, only to have the granola bar get stuck at the last second. Wally West viciously kicked the snack machine, irritated he had been cheated out of a dollar. Who's stupid idea had it been to put a vending machine in the Watchtower anyway? There he was, his first time on the moon, and he was beating the ever living daylights out of a box.

Barry had heard a rumor that there was a lead on Robin, but every time he or Wally attempted to dig deeper and get information from the others they would receive a blank stare. Wally punched the machine. Why weren't they keeping him in the loop? Even Roy, one of his best friends, was withholding information from him. He was Robin's friend—no, he was his family. He deserved to be kept up to date on the search for his missing little brother.

Suddenly, Wally couldn't seem to get enough air. He sunk to the ground with his head in his hands, all efforts of retrieving his granola bar abandoned. He knew why everyone was keeping their mouths shut. Robin was dead. He sobbed into his hands and wiped snot from his nose. Truth be told, he had been a wreck since Christmas. He just put on a smile to mask what he was really feeling. Anger, sadness, and guilt.

"Hey, kid, are you alright?"

Wally quickly wiped away his tears and smiled at Hal Jordan, who was kneeling in front of him. Jumping to his feet, he fist bumped Hal, who was staring at him with a concerned expression clearly painted on his face. Why had Wally been crying? He was their ray of sunshine! The young redhead gestured to the vending machine where his granola bat still hung from the coil designed to drive Wally crazy.

Hal summoned the power from his ring to create a transparent green hammer, which he used to knock the granola bat out of the machine. Wally snatched up the bar without so much as a thanks. He shoved it in his mouth, barely taking the time to remove the wrapper.

"I've never seen someone get that upset over a candy bar."

"It's a granola bar," he snapped. "I take food seriously, with my metabolism and all."

"I've seen people get grouchy when they're hungry, but I've never seen anyone cry," Hal commented.

Wally felt hot tears welling up in his eyes. "My goldfish died."

"Your _goldfish_?"

He bobbed his head. "His name was Worf."

"It's the circle of life, kid."

"I overfed him and thought I could suck out the extra food with a mini-vac, and then he was gone."

Hal hadn't heard much of what Wally had said because he had been speed talking, but from what he _had _heard he knew the speedster was lying. It wasn't any of his business to pry into the boy's personal life, but it was killing him to not know why he had been crying. Wally was the strong one. Even Bats had broken down, though he'd never admit it. All he had done was throw a couple tables, nothing terrible.

Turning on his heel, he began to walk away. If Wally didn't want to talk about it, it was fine by him. But still, the question of why he had been crying nagged at him. Hal highly doubted that his goldfish had died. Even if it had, he didn't think he would get _that _upset over it. The stupid things normally died the day after they were purchased anyway.

"He's dead, isn't he?" a small voice asked.

He didn't have to ask to know who Wally meant. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the boy was sitting on the floor with his forehead to his knees and sobbing quietly. Walking back and kneeling down in front of him, Hal placed his hands on Wally's shoulders and gave them a gentle reassuring squeeze. The speedster looked up and tried to give him a smile, but it turned out like a Batman smile. The only thing that happened was the corner of his lip twitched, then he went back to glaring at his kneecaps as if everything that was happening was their fault.

"Why would you think that?" Hal asked.

"Everyone is avoiding me, they all seem so upset. Not even Speedy will tell me what's going on. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Bats in nearly a week."

"Batman has been in Star City."

Wally wiped snot from his nose. "Why?"

Hal seemed indecisive. He glanced over his shoulder and turned back to Wally. "Robin was spotted in downtown Star City. In fact, he was caught on camera."

"Why wouldn't anyone tell me or Flash? Or even the Titans?"

He grimaced. "It's a gruesome tape. He was just trying to protect you."

"Who's _he_?"

"Speedy."

Anger flared inside of Wally. "Roy was in on this too? He kept information from _me_ about our friend, our _brother_?"

"Kid, calm down."

"Calm down?" he snorted. "Calm down? They let me think Rob was dead! I'm not going to calm down. I'm flat out ticked."

"They were trying to _protect _you. If you had seen that video, you would probably prefer Robin to be dead."

But Hal's words fell to deaf ears. Wally had already sped away.

* * *

Green Arrow sighed as he yet again sat with Batman, watching the video of Robin's beating. Black Canary stood behind him with a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. Speedy stood behind her, fiddling with his bow, while Captain Marvel watched, completely engrossed in what he was doing. Wonder Woman was reading over the practically non-existent information they had about Robin.

Ollie closed his eyes. He didn't know how many more times he could watch the video before cracking. It had taken a while, but they had found information about the boy who had been murdered. His name had been Leroy Gardner, he had been orphaned at a young age and had lived on the streets most of his life.

Leroy had been given a private funeral, to which most of the Justice League attended. He had been laid to rest under a beautiful weeping cherry tree that stood alone in a tucked away corner of Gotham cemetery. To say the least, he was given nothing short of a hero's funeral. All expenses had been by Gotham's white knight, Bruce Wayne.

Roy ran his hands over his bow, curving his fingers to every nook and cranny. He had yet to figure out how to break it to the League that Deathstroke had Robin without simultaneously giving up his secrets. He knew he was being selfish, as if his drugs and assassin girlfriend mattered more than Dick's life. Roy felt sick to his stomach. He was nothing but a narcissistic, two-faced, lying jerk who cared more about himself than his long time best friend and little brother.

Captain Marvel had yet to watch the video the whole way through. Everyone thought he didn't watch it because it hurt him to see Robin in such an exposed state, but that was only half of it. The blood was what really got to him, he could practically hear it squishing like mud under bare feet. He shivered. He did not like blood, not one bit. It was gross and sticky, and he didn't like the thought of it escaping the body through a tear in the flesh.

He knew he was eating at Speedy's last nerve by watching him work on his bow, but he couldn't help it. The older boy was stroking it like a cat and that had caught his attention. The way he saw it, he could either watch the bloody video or the bow. Batman had said he could leave, but he felt he owed it to the Dark Knight to stay. He knew that Batman knew he was only a ten year old kid, yet he allowed him to stay in the League.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," Speedy snapped.

"Sorry," he murmured, turning away.

Ollie couldn't get over the fact that Dick had been trying to contact him at the time the video had been shot. Guilt had been tearing at him like a wild animal eager to be fed. He could have done something, anything. It was his city, his responsibility, he should have been there for Dick. But no, at the time the boy was being beaten within an inch of his life, Ollie had been lying in bed, nursing a hangover. He didn't know if Bruce was mad at him, the man had been more mute than usual. But he knew Roy sure was.

Suddenly the doors swung open with a bang and Speedy's bow clattered to the floor. Everyone jumped to fighting positions, but relaxed when they found it to be Kid Flash. A very angry Kid Flash. He held Speedy to the wall by the front of his shirt, his mouth twisted in a snarl and his eyes blazing.

"You had no right to keep this from me!" he yelled. "Robin is my friend too."

"Who told you?" Roy demanded.

"That's none of your business."

"Please," Captain Marvel interjected. "You're both Robin's friends. Now please stop fighting, he wouldn't want-"

"You don't know him like I do," the two redheads snapped in unison.

"Enough," came a deep voice.

Everyone looked up from the argument to see Batman had gotten up from what seemed to be his permanent place in front of the computer. A deep scowl was etched on his face as if it had been carved there. His cape hung from his shoulders, covering his gray and black suit and the eye slits of his cowl were narrowed in an angry manner. They all knew he was displeased, he had every right to be.

"Get out."

They all stared at him with open mouths, as if they hadn't heard him right. One by one, they began to shuffle out of the room. They all understood the stress Batman was under, but they were only trying to help. Every one of them was connected to Robin in their own personal way, whether it be that he saved their lives or they saved his.

"No," came Speedy's strong voice.

All eyes were on the redheaded archer. Had he really told the Dark Knight no? Surely they had misheard, even Superman didn't had the guts to speak out against him. Batman's jaw clenched and his eyes burned holes into Speedy. Even he was not sure he had heard the boy right.

"That's right," Kid Flash jumped in. "He said 'no'."

When he spoken, Batman's voice was flat. "You all are becoming a nuisance to the ongoing investigation."

"A _nuisance_?" Speedy snarled. "So you are opting to search for Robin on your own? Because if I remember correctly, you wouldn't have even known he was alive without the help of me and Green Arrow."

"Yeah," Wally threw in. "You were completely prepared for the worst."

"I can't afford to hope."

"So you're just giving up on Dick?"

Batman's eyes flicked to Captain Marvel, then back to Wally. Not everyone knew their identities. But Captain Marvel was cringing, thinking that the older boy had sworn. He wasn't allowed to say dirty words, yet he was allowed to fight crime. It made perfect sense.

"No," Batman said. "As for you, Speedy, I would have found the video one way or another."

"That may be true," Roy replied. "But because of that video, you need me now more than ever."

"And why is that?"

"Because I know who the masked man was."

He was greeted with open mouths. He hadn't meant to say it, it had just slipped out. Secrets are a funny thing. After being locked away for so long, they longed to be discovered. Roy had yet to think of a way to deliver the news, but if he hesitated they would catch on. His best option was to be blunt, he finally decided. Wally would be on his case about it, but it was better than the whole League.

"His name is Deathstroke," Roy said cautiously. "He is a mercenary. I don't know why I didn't recognize him before now. It must have been the trauma of the video."

It came out a lot less blunt than he wanted, but everyone seemed to accept his answer. Batman turned back to the computer and began typing, searching for any and all information on Deathstroke. Anger bubbled deep inside of Roy. He was not done with Bruce, not in the least bit.

"If we hadn't been at the Christmas dinner, you wouldn't have told us Dick was missing until he turned up in a shoebox on the doorstep of Wayne Manor!"

Roy could do nothing but stay rooted to the floor as he watched Batman pull his hand back and send it flying forward. The force of the slap caused the boy to stumble backwards a few steps. His hand shot up to his stinging cheek to feel the tender flesh that was quickly turning red in the shape of a handprint.

Hot tears blurred his vision. Not tears of pain, no, he had endured much worse, but tears of embarrassment, rage, and guilt. He was embarrassed for being made a fool of in front of a quarter of the Justice League. Angry, because Batman was an emotionless, uncaring, jerk who seemed to have no concern for his son's wellbeing. And guilt for wasting precious time that could be better spent searching for Dick. Every moment was valuable, for every one they wasted was one less from Dick's life.

Ollie lurched forward, completely prepared to tear out Bruce's throat, but was held back by Dinah grabbing his arm. Sending her a mixed look of anger and compassion, he stayed where he was with his jaw and fists clenched, ready to spring if Batman tried anything else. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, he wanted a fight. He wanted to beat Bruce to a bloody pulp for hitting Roy, but he knew it was a fight he would not win.

Green Arrow watched as Kid Flash shot Batman a murderous look and Speedy spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto his boots. He would have done much worse, but it seemed fitting for two teenaged boys who had lost their best friend. They stormed out, the rest of the heroes following, save for Green Arrow, Black Canary, and Batman. The three stood in silence so thick it could be cut by a knife. Turning on his heel, Bruce strode over to the computer, only leaving Ollie angrier.

"Are you going to say something?" he practically yelled.

"I have a new lead."

"_You _have a new lead? Roy is practically leading this investigation. It was him who identified Dick, and him who found out a mercenary took him! God, Bruce, you are one ungrateful bastard!"

"Get out," Batman snapped.

Dinah gently tugged Ollie out of the room, but not before he flipped Bruce off behind his back. The Hall was empty, everyone had already fled for their lives. Stroking the archer's cheek, Black Canary touched her lips to his, sending a small thrill through his body. He was reluctant to pull away.

"Why did you stop me?"

She gently stroked his cheek again. "Every word Roy said was true, but he had absolutely no right to say it to Bruce's face."

"He needed a reality check, if you ask me."

"You are all blowing this out of proportion. Batman does care. He is grieving as we speak, he just does it differently than most people. He's not getting his hopes up because he has had them crushed too many times before, but he would never give up on Robin. Not until he is found, either dead or alive."

"He hit Roy."

Dinah rolled her eyes. "Put yourself in his shoes for a moment. Think, Ollie, he just lost his son, possibly forever. How would you feel if that was Roy out there and you had some bratty teenager constantly in your face as you searched for him?"

"Roy is not a brat."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so he is, sometimes. But that doesn't change the fact that Bruce hit Roy!"

"Just answer my question."

Ollie sighed. "I wouldn't have liked it. But I would have never hit Dick."

"What Bruce did was wrong," Dinah agreed.

The two were left in an awkward silence that seemed to swallow them up. Most of Ollie's rage had dissipated, but it was still there nonetheless. He would have to avoid Batman for a while, but it would be fairly hard, considering the man came to Star City every other night to scour every inch of the city for any sign of his partner's whereabouts.

"So," Dinah said, breaking the silence, "How did your Christmas mission go?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "It went."

"The drug dealer didn't find out you were a man?"

"How did you-?"

"I know when my makeup and favorite dress go missing."

Ollie once again fell silent.

"How did the dress fit you anyway?" she asked.

"I took it to a tailor." After receiving a glare from Dinah, he grumbled, "I'll buy you a new dress."

"What was that?"

"I buy you a new dress," he said a little louder.

"I can't wait to tell Roy," Dinah laughed.

"Hey, you've dressed as a man before."

"Being forced to dress up as the Fifth Doctor for a sci-fi convention doesn't count."

Before he could respond, Ollie ran into a brick wall and fell onto his rump. A green and orange brick wall. Looking up from his place on the floor, he saw Aquaman smiling down at him. Accepting his extended hand, Green Arrow jumped to his feet and muttered his apology. He continued down the hall with Black Canary, leaving Aquaman with his thoughts.

"Oliver 'Drag' Queen," he laughed.

* * *

_I really love Ollie and Dinah. Charlie asked me one time if I wanted anything specific in the story and I practically demanded that there be more Dinah, because she's awesome. Oh, and yes, I named Wally's goldfish after a Star Trek character. And the mention of the Fifth Doctor...I changed the dialogue to that last minute. Also, I came up with the Oliver 'Drag' Queen thing._

_But to be semi-serious, SHIT JUST WENT DOWN IN THE JUSTICE LEAGUE! (Oops, Charlie's gonna kill me for cursing. Too late.) But then again, most of this story consists of bad shit happenening to everybody (mainly Dick.) _

_And next chapter should be back to your regularly scheduled Dick angst._


	12. Rehabilitation

Robin's abdomen protested as his forehead met his knees. His hands were locked behind his head and his feet were tucked beneath his bed. His door was wide open and he could hear Wintergreen preparing lunch. The smell of lasagna met his nostrils and his mouth watered. But he didn't stop his curl ups. If Wintergreen were to walk back and see what he was doing, he would throw a hissy fit.

He was not allowed to work out or train until his body fully recovered, but the weakness was getting to him. Robin would often find ways to secretly tone his muscles—curl-ups, push-ups, chin-ups, and leg extensions. He wasn't nearly as strong as he used to be, but he was getting there. He had to be extremely careful when working out because of his broken nose and stitches, he had to constantly remind himself not to scrunch up his face. He hissed in pain as he again curled his body again. The brand on his chest was definitely the worst of his injuries.

"Lunch!" Wintergreen called.

Jumping to his feet, Robin cartwheeled out the door and sprinted down the hall into the kitchen where a big plate of lasagna was waiting for him. It had been a week since he had been brought back up from the basement and he had already gained four pounds. His stomach ulcer caused him to lose his appetite and vomit, so weight gain was extremely difficult.

He grabbed the two Aleve that were sitting on the counter and took them dry. His stomach rumbled like thunder and he shoveled his food into his mouth faster than lightning. Dropping his fork on his plate, he eagerly asked for seconds before Wintergreen could even finish preparing Slade's plate. The old man smiled and sat another plate in front of him. Taking his time, Robin savored every mouthful.

"I won't need your help cleaning today, Dick," Wintergreen said.

Robin grimaced. Slade had allowed him to keep his mask, but they no longer called him Robin. They called him Dick, or Richard if they were angry. He hated it. They were trying to strip him of his identity. He would often fight back and insist on being called Robin, but it usually resulted in a harsh look from Wintergreen or a slap to the face from Slade.

"What am I supposed to do all day?" he asked through a mouthful of food.

He looked forward to cleaning with Wintergreen, it gave him something to do. Boredom was his torture. He almost wished that Slade would start up training again.

"Ask Slade, he was the one who told me to relieve you of your cleaning duties."

Robin didn't know how to respond. Slade obviously had something planned for him. He watched as Wintergreen opened the sliding glass door with his keycard and disappeared out the door with a plate of food held securely in his hands. He heard the dogs bark, two Rottweilers that had been purchased after his great escape, and the basement door open.

Shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth, Robin sprang from his seat and ran to his room. Quietly shutting the door behind him, he slumped to the floor. He had managed to mostly avoid Slade for the last week, but it seemed the inevitable moment had finally arrived. He had really hoped that he could have at least recovered from his previous injuries before Slade decided to administer another beating.

Tears suddenly sprang to his eyes. He wanted to go home. At that point he didn't care if it was Bruce who came and found him. He wanted to be somewhere safe, with people who loved him, people who cared, or in the very least would talk to him like he was a person rather than a possession. He was lonely, he missed his friends. And for the first time in two years, he missed Bruce.

"I will not break," he whispered. "I will not break."

He had to be strong for his friends, the League, Bruce, and most of all, himself. He would not submit to Slade. He would not become the bloodthirsty killer he wanted him to be, but he had to gain some of his trust. With trust came small freedoms, and with that he had a chance of getting away. He would have to cooperate with Slade, but could he do it without completely losing himself? It was a risk he was going to have to take.

Robin would have to build up the trust slowly, so he didn't trip his hand. It would be hard but he could manage. He would have to control his anger, not snap so much, and make rational decisions.

"Dick, are you in there?" Wintergreen called.

"Yeah," he called back. "Can you let me out? I accidently closed the door and locked myself in."

The door popped open with a click and Robin followed Wintergreen into the living room where Slade stood, waiting. His hands were clasped behind his back as he stared out the window, his shoulders were relaxed and back was turned to them. Every muscle in Robin's body tightened. Was Slade going to make a move? The masked man slowly turned around and his sole eye fell on Robin.

"How would you feel about going on a little run?"

He was lost for words. "Like…through the woods?"

Slade shook his head. "I can't trust you not to run away. There is a treadmill in the basement."

Wintergreen shot him a look. "He hasn't gained enough weight back for any kind of physical activity."

"Relax, Will," Slade said. "He won't be running more than a mile."

"His ulcer-"

"Is almost cleared up," Robin finished. "I hardly felt it when I was eating lunch and I haven't thrown up in nearly two days."

"You are not in any condition to work out."

Slade moved across the room and placed a hand on Robin's shoulder. Robin resisted the urge to shudder, but he didn't shrug the hand off. If he was going to gain Slade's trust, he would have to do it in baby steps. But he was still unwilling to let the man touch him, it didn't feel right. Closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, he did something he never thought he would do. He stepped to Slade's side.

"A run sounds nice right now."

Wintergreen sighed. "It seems I am outspoken."

The two watched as the old man exited the room only to return moments later with a water bottle and a towel in his hands. He tossed them to Robin, who caught them like they were merely playing a game of catch. With one more displeased look at the two, he took his seat on the green chair by the window and continued reading his newspaper.

Slade gripped Robin's upper arm and practically drug him out the sliding glass doors. Outside, the sky was covered with gray clouds and the yard was dark. The occasional raindrop would land on Robin's face and cause him to squint. When they arrived at the basement doors, Slade pulled Robin to him and leaned down to whisper in his ear as if he were afraid someone else would hear.

"If you try anything funny, I won't go easy on you again. There is a nice little spot for you under the tree. Even in death, I won't give you the satisfaction of returning you to your precious friends."

Robin swallowed thickly. "They will find me."

"When will you learn?" Slade mused. "No one is coming for you. No one cares that little orphan Dickie dropped off the face of the earth."

"Batman-"

Robin had not seen the slap coming. His cheek stung. Before his mind had a chance to figure out what had happened, he was forced to his hands and knees. Slade's hand was positioned on top of his head, keeping him down. Robin's neck ached as he tried to push himself back up, but it was of no use. Slade was stronger than he was and he overpowered him.

Anger swelled within his chest and exploded like fireworks. He was kneeling at Slade's feet, kneeling before him like he was his slave. A growl tore out of Robin's throat. No, he would not be Slade's punching bag. But there he was, bowing down to him like an apprentice would bow before their master. It disgusted him. He spit on Slade's boot and received a kick to the chest that knocked the wind out of him.

"Don't ever mention his name ever again," Slade hissed.

"Why?" Robin retorted sharply. "Are you afraid of him? I know for a fact that he's hot on your trail."

"Then why are you still here?"

Robin clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might break one. Would Batman really just leave him behind? He felt himself fighting back tears. He was a terrible son, that's why Bruce had given up on him. He liked to pretend that someone would find him. Sometimes he would let the encounter play out in his mind like a movie. Most of the time, Batman would be the one to save him.

A single tear rolled down his cheek. He wanted to be home at Wayne Manor, tucked safely in his bed, eating Alfred's famous pancakes. He wanted to be safe, he didn't want to spend another day with Slade. Robin would never turn his back on what Bruce had taught him. A sob threatened to escape his throat. He couldn't take it. He, Robin the Boy Wonder, couldn't take everything that Slade was throwing at him.

And somehow he knew the worst had yet to come.


	13. The Talk and the Letter

_I'm so so sorry for not updating for a while! It's just that school started for me last week, and I've just been really busy. So to make up for it, this is a chapter full of Dick angst._

* * *

Slade thrust the heel of his hand forward and hit Robin just below his ribcage, successfully knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backwards a few steps before regaining his balance. With a cry, he charged at Slade only to have his fist caught mid run. The older man threw him over his shoulder and watched as the boy landed in a soft patch of grass.

He had decided to take the sparring match outside instead of in the basement like usual, to put Robin in a more realistic setting. The dogs stood a good distance away with their heads bowed low, ready to attack if Robin were to run. The sun was just beginning to rise on the eastern horizon and a gentle dew had settled over the grass. The soft breeze that danced through the air had a light chill to it.

He had woken Robin up early to begin training. Wintergreen wasn't happy in the least bit , but the boy's injuries were almost completely healed so he let it slide. The white tips of the scar Robin had received poked out from under his mask, the stitches had been removed three days earlier. Tape remained over the bridge of his nose and the brand on his chest was still wrapped.

Slade contemplated on kicking the boy while he was down. If he were to go down while on a mission, his attacker would not hold back. Slade was only preparing him for the real world. Yet he took pity on the boy. Robin was not at the top of his game and it was clear that every movement he made pained him. He was sluggish, Slade observed. He was sloppy, like he had given up and just didn't care anymore.

He watched as Robin picked himself up off the ground and readied himself in a fighting stance, but his muscles were lax. Slade took notice of the boy's labored breathing. It was odd. Just the previous day he had been fighting fine, but now it was like he had all of the life sucked out of him. Dropping his own stance and folding his hands behind his back, Slade turned away from Robin and began to walk back to the house.

Much to his surprise, the raven haired boy obediently followed instead of attacking while his guard was down. He was still fighting fair. Slade would have to change that. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Robin gazing at the ground and fiddling with his hands. He frowned, what had gotten into him? The confident boy had been replaced by a timid, self-conscious boy.

Opening the sliding glass doors, they were immediately hit with the smell of freshly made pancakes. Three plates were set out on the table and Wintergreen was pouring syrup on them. The sweet liquid was like a waterfall flowing over the hotcakes. Robin's stomach growled at the thought, but he didn't have much of an appetite.

To be honest, he felt drained. Taking his seat at the table, he sipped his orange juice and made a face. It was bitter, like his mood. He pushed his food around his plate and sighed. It was awkward, sitting at the table with Wintergreen and Slade, eating a meal like they were a family. But he was way beyond the point of caring.

"You're not going to gain any weight by not eating," Wintergreen said.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled.

"Is something wrong?"

Robin felt his face heat up. Was there something wrong? Yes. Did he know what it was? No. he gripped the fork in his hand tightly. Maybe he had finally cracked. That was something to look forward to, getting carted off to the asylum instead of going home. The thought of jumping over the table and wringing Slade's neck briefly passed through his mind, but he pushed it away. Not _everything _was Slade's fault.

"I know I'm not supposed to keep track of time," he said, "But does it happen to be March 13th?"

Wintergreen gave Slade an unsure look before confirming that it was indeed March 13th. They watched as Robin pushed away from the table and marched down the hall without touching his food.

"What was that-" Wintergreen started.

"It's the date of his parent's deaths," Slade informed. "I should have known, it's such a stupid thing to forget."

"You should talk with him."

"I thought he'd rather cut his own vocal cords."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'm sure this is the first year he's been alone. He's still a child, no matter how mature you think he is. Speak with him. Come to some level of understanding. You'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

"Will, he's not willing to talk-"

"Is it you or he who is not willing?" Wintergreen challenged. "Face it, you don't want to get close to him because of what happened to Grant. Think, maybe _you _need to make the first move."

Sighing, Slade stood up. Wintergreen was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He was too caught up in his own pride to realize it most of the time. He strode down the hall to find Robin's door closed. He had locked himself in. Slade hesitated a moment before knocking and letting himself in. Normally he wouldn't give Robin the pleasure of privacy, but the situation was different. Or maybe he was getting soft.

The room was dark. Flicking on the lights, Slade stepped in. There was not a single trace of dust or dirt in the room. No dirty clothes were on the floor, but that was expected. He hadn't been allowed to do anything for weeks on end, so he must have done something to occupy his time, other than reading. He was almost done with _Falling. _His bed was made neatly, hospital corners and all. His copy of _Falling _was sitting on his nightstand, but Robin was nowhere to be found.

Slade walked past the dresser and bed, which were parallel to each other, and towards the wall opposite to the door. He found Robin sitting on the other side of his bed. His forehead was pressed to his knees and he was hugging his legs like they were a teddy bear. His back rose and fell with each shuddering breath he took, but Slade heard no sobbing noises. Clutched in his right hand was the grey plaid shirt Leroy had given him.

"Where did you learn to clean like this?"

Slade had decided to use the casual approach. If he rushed into things too fast it was likely that Robin would get angry. Yes, start simple. His frown deepened. But what if it didn't work? What if Robin told him to take a hike or attacked him? Slade really didn't want to hurt him. He agreed with Wintergreen that he would not beat the boy unless it was truly necessary. Slade was all too familiar with the pain Robin was feeling. When the anniversary of Grant's death rolled around, he normally drowned his sorrows in alcohol.

When Robin looked up, Slade took notice that he had not been crying. He almost expected him to be, but Robin was too strong to cry. But what about Dick Grayson? The young acrobat's cheeks were tinted red, he looked like he wanted to cry. His small body shook and he had abandoned all efforts of hiding it from Slade. Robin's face took on a confused look, but his eyes remained sad.

"I used to help Alfred around the house," he said as if he were speaking from far away. "He taught me."

"Did you spend a lot of time with Alfred?"

"He raised me at first. Bruce wasn't sure what to do with a child."

"Are you okay, Dick?"

The boy must not have heard him. "I really wanted to kill him, ya know. I was completely compared to do it too."

"Who?"

"Tony Zucco."

"The man who killed your parents?"

"Bruce said that if I killed him, I would be unsatisfied. That I would want to kill more people and be no better than Zucco himself."

"You're not Bruce."

"I'm not you either!" Robin snapped.

Closing his eyes, he flinched away, expecting to be hit for raising his voice at Slade. But the slap never came. A twinge of hope spiked through him. Had he gained enough trust from Slade to stop the brutal beatings? He highly doubted it, he himself hadn't put forth any effort. Realization hit him: Slade was making the first move. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Hope was replaced with anger, but he quickly suppressed it. He couldn't blow his top or forget about getting out of there.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm just tired of trying to be who everyone wants me to be. I'm my own person."

"What did you intend to do if you did catch up with Zucco?"

"I…I hate that question."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

A sob rose in his throat, but he swallowed it. He didn't want to cry in front of Slade. He had given him a choice. _A choice. _He hadn't been given a chance to choose for himself since he had arrived there. He knew that Slade was taking a big leap, but he was still reluctant to release such personal information to the man. The question plagued his every waking thought. What if Bruce hadn't been there to hold him back? His answer was dark for that of a hero.

"I would have killed him, had Bruce not shown me the right way. The just way," he said, ashamed.

"How would you have done it?"

Robin knew what he meant, but he still asked, "What?"

"How would you have killed Tony Zucco?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, stabbed him maybe. Though if I had, I would have been caught easily since I was eight and couldn't have done it cleanly. At least I probably would have only been put in juvy." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "But putting him behind bars gave me the best feeling I've ever had."

"He's dead now, isn't he?" Slade asked.

Robin nodded. "Zucco got out of prison after seven years. He was shot as he was leaving the prison. His murderer was never found, some people thought it was a rival gang member."

"What do you think?"

"I think whoever did it had me in mind."

An awkward silence fell over them. Robin had opened up more than Slade had ever thought possible. He had shared thoughts that had been bundled up inside him for nearly a decade. His thoughts were dark, Slade could build onto him. Robin most definitely had the mind of a killer, it was just wired the wrong way. His fighting skills were worthy of an assassin also. Slade remembered the way Robin had taken down his robots. He had been quick, savage, and angry. They would have to work on his temperament issues, they were a sure way to get him killed.

"I guess it's out of the question to ask to call Bruce?" Robin spoke up.

"It is," Slade agreed. "But I don't see any harm in letting you write him a letter, as long as you don't disclose your location, who has you, or why."

Hope flashed in his eyes. "You're not serious."

"I am."

"Can I at least date it?"

"I don't think society is ready for that."

A half laugh, half sob escaped Robin's mouth, but Slade pretended not to hear. "You know what I mean."

"I don't see any harm in it."

Slade watched as Robin jumped to his feet and ran out of his bedroom. Slowly standing up, he followed. He found Robin already seated at the kitchen table, writing on a yellow notepad. Wintergreen gave Slade an approving nod from where he stood behind the sink. He moved into the living room so he wouldn't intrude on the boy, even if he was later going to read the note to check it over.

Robin didn't care how messy his handwriting was as he scribbled down his note to Bruce. His heart dropped a little. What guarantee did he have that the letter would actually ever be delivered? He shook the thought from his head. He would have to trust Slade.

"I'm going to check that for hidden messages," Slade called.

"I'd expect nothing less."

* * *

_I know, this chapter was mostly a lot of dialogue and had no action. But I do like the line about dating the letter. Anyway, I apologize again for the update delay, and I will probably apologize for it a billion more times before the story's finished._


	14. CPR

_I know, it's been almost two weeks and I'm a huge jerk face. It's just that I'm always really busy with school and marching band. And it doesn't help that this chapter is almost 10 Word document pages long. Like I said before, updates would most definitely be slower now. From now on, if I don't update for two weeks in a row, you have permission to yell at me via Charlie's PM._

_Oh, and thanks to whoever pointed out my really bad typo last chapter! I should probably start looking over the chapters better._

* * *

"_The cliff was not the edge of the world, but the drop over the side could still kill. Three hundred feet straight down to a stream just four feet deep. Amy did not appear to remember, but it was the same cliff she had practiced on during their last visit to the national park. Once she had conquered it, she had felt like a real rock climber."_

Robin was in the living room reading _Falling. _He lay flat on his stomach with his legs stretched behind him and his head held in his hands. His black hair was a mess and it dropped into his eyes, making it difficult to see. He wore a plain red t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans with holes in them. He flipped the page of his book and continued reading. He was nearing the end and the tension was killing him.

Wintergreen and Slade sat in the two green armchairs in front of the window. It was a normal family scene, but it was extremely awkward for Robin. He had sent the letter to Bruce two days before. Ever since, they had all danced around each other. He wouldn't say that Slade had gotten softer, but he had gotten more considerate. He no longer treated Robin as a tool, but as a person. Things were getting better, he was gaining small freedoms.

They had just finished eating a delicious lunch of spaghetti and meatballs, made by Wintergreen, and had settled down in the living room. Robin and Slade had trained all morning. He had done so well the older man had given him the rest of the day off, though he didn't know what he was going to do with himself. Maybe he could ask Slade if he could bench press later.

His attention was brought back to the present by the sound of paper rustling. Wintergreen was reading a newspaper and Slade was going through a stack of papers thicker than a sandwich made by Cyborg. On the front page of the newspaper was a picture of him and his friends as the Teen Titans standing in front of the tower. He remembered when the photo was taken. It had been shot the day they had finished building the tower. The article was titled "_Where Are the Founding Titans?"_

Gently closing his book, Robin sat up. His mouth was dry. He wanted to ask permission to read the article, but he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't know why, the worst that could happen would be Slade saying no. But what if he messed things up? In a way, he liked how things were. What if he royally ticked Slade off? His nose throbbed to prove how bad things had been before they had found neutral ground. He shook all negative thoughts from his head. If he never asked, he'd never know. Clearing his throat, he caught Wintergreen's attention, causing the old man to look over his paper at him.

"Can I read that?" he asked quietly.

Wintergreen's eyebrows scrunched together like he was confused. Slowly turning the paper around in his hands, he read the title of the article. Understanding flashed in his eyes. He shot Slade a questioning look which was returned with an indifferent shrug. It wasn't much, but it was a yes. Robin's heart soared. For the first time in three months—eighty-three days to be exact—he was going to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

Robin took the newspaper from Wintergreen with a small thank you. He didn't know if it was directed at Slade or Wintergreen, but they both accepted it with a slight nod of their heads. He gently smoothed the paper over the floor as if it were very delicate. He laid back down on his stomach and planted his elbows in the shaggy carpet. Setting his head on his closed fists, he looked over the gray paper.

He took his time memorizing the picture. Over the course of the eighty-three days he had forgotten the curve of Raven's mouth when she would give a rare ghost smile. Or the way Cyborg's nose twitched when he wanted to laugh, but whatever it was that was funny was too inappropriate to laugh at. He had forgotten the way Starfire's eyes constantly shone with curiosity and the way Beast Boy always looked like he was going to get caught for something. The picture was a nice reminder, but he knew Slade would not allow him to keep it.

There was a person in the picture he did not recognize at first. It took him a while to realize it was him. In the picture he looked strained, yet happy. The picture had been taken when he had just started getting used to a team, so his frustration level had been high. His hair was spiked up and a smile was settled over his face. It seemed like forever since he had smiled last, he actually couldn't remember. His posture was cocky and arrogant. One good thing that Slade had taught him was that he was not as good as he thought he was.

Taking his eyes off the picture, he cast them onto the actual article. He placed his finger under the words and silently moved his mouth as he read.

_Over the last two months the Titans absence in Jump City has not gone unnoticed by the city's citizens. Though they did not leave the city unprotected, the people of Jump cannot help but wonder where their beloved heroes have gone. Lately the Titans East have been watching over the city of Jump, but when Steel City need their heroes, they leave Jump to honorary Titans, such as Argent, Kole, Gnark, and Jericho._

_It has been brought to our attention that the founding Titans aren't the only heroes who aren't where they are supposed to be. Speedy, of the Titans East, has been spotted in both Star City and Gotham. As we all know, Speedy is the former partner of Green Arrow, hero of Star City. But why would he be in Gotham? In fact, the young archer is not the only hero who has been seen in Gotham. The Flash, Wonder Woman, and several other members of the Justice League have also been spotted in the Dark Knight's city._

_Is Gotham the center of something big that the Justice League doesn't want us to learn about? And what has happened to the Teen Titans? Are they splitting up?_

_-Article by Jonelle Binitch_

He pressed his lips into a thin line and pretended to look confused, but on the inside he was bursting with joy. The Titans _and _the whole Justice League were looking for him! There was no way they couldn't find him. He was glad his friends were looking for him, but the city needed them. Were they working hand in hand with the League, or individually? Had Roy gone solo? He shook his head, so many questions and so little to go on.

Robin was about to return the newspaper to Wintergreen when something caught his attention. The word "Wayne" was poking out from under the page with the Titans on it. Slowly he turned the page only to have his breath hitch in his throat. The image that greeted him nearly brought tears to his eyes. On the page was a picture of Bruce. He was standing behind a podium with his hand stretched out like he was waving to somebody off camera. The article was titled _"Is Bruce Wayne Hiding Something?"_

_Bruce Wayne, after two months of not being seen, unexpectedly threw a charity event for the Gotham City Orphanage. We all saw it for what it truly was: a cover up. Gotham's White Knight's long absences have raised suspicion. It was also brought to our attention that Richard John Grayson, adopted ward of Mr. Wayne, hasn't been seen in months. From what Mr. Wayne has told us, we know that he is receiving a higher education in an unknown location. We believe this also to be a cover up._

_We have learned from anonymous sources that Grayson is overseas receiving treatment for a mysterious illness that has plagued him. Mr. Wayne has been trying to keep it on the down low, but it was only a matter of time before the media found out._

_Get well, Richard_

_-Article by Lois Lane_

He felt a small smile grace his lips. Clark was covering for Bruce through Lois. Robin was sure Clark felt terrible about lying to the love of his life, but he was focusing people's attention elsewhere. He felt great gratitude towards the big blue boy scout. They were doing a good job of keeping their identities secret, but how much information did they have about him? Three and a half months, it was the longest he had been held by one of his captors.

Taking one last lingering glance at the picture of Bruce, he folded the newspaper over. The picture of the Teen Titans was staring back at him. He had to look away for he couldn't stand to see his friends with the stranger that was supposedly him. Folding the paper the rest of the way, he sat up and handed it back to Wintergreen, who gave him a small smile in return.

"Did you find anything interesting?"

Robin nodded. "Apparently I am receiving treatment in another country for a strange illness."

Wintergreen shook his head. "The media tries to find an answer to everything."

"You should have seen the story they wrote on why Beast Boy is green."

"That would have been an interesting article."

"Yeah," Robin hesitated, turning to Slade. "Can I go lay down? I feel a migraine coming on."

"You have the day off," Slade replied.

Standing up quickly, Robin ran out of the living room and into the hallway. He had lied to Slade, but what did it matter? He _was _going to lie down, he was just making a detour. It would feel nice to empty his head of the thoughts that were plaguing him. Yes, a nap sounded nice.

Walking into the bathroom, he closed the door behind him. Making his way to the counter, he pushed his bangs out of his eyes and examined himself in the mirror. His black hair was overgrown and shaggy. He still hadn't gained back all the weight he lost, but he wasn't as skinny as a stick anymore. Wintergreen's cooking was definitely helping. His skin was pale from being locked away. Muscles bulged under his skin from the hard physical training he had put himself through. His face was hard, grim almost, like he had aged several years in the last couple months.

Slowly he peeled off his mask and set it on the counter as if it were fragile as a snowflake. Looking back in the mirror, he found crystal blue eyes staring back at him. People say that the eyes are the window to the soul, but from years of living with Bruce he had begun to doubt that. Bruce's eyes were unchanging, always hard and calculating, practically unreadable, much like Slade's lone eye. But now that he was looking into his own eyes, he what all those people said were true. In his eyes he saw grief, anger, rebellion, submission, and a small flicker of hope. They were like a tell-all book.

He placed his finger just above his temple and traced the scar that ran over his eye and almost to his nostril. It was over his right eye, the one Slade was missing. A wave of disgust shot through him, he didn't want to be similar to the man in any way. Yet they were the same, in different ways, if that made sense. He let his hand fall back to his side. Wintergreen had taken the bandages off his nose, the bone had set well. It hadn't been a terrible break in the first place.

Gently tugging his shirt over his head, he let it drop to the floor. Tugging off the medical tape that stuck to his skin just under his armpit, he began to unwind the bandage that was tied tightly around his chest. Throwing them in the waste basket, he studied the brand over his heart. The insignia was white, but around the edges where the flesh puffed it was a bright pink. Luckily, due to Wintergreen's care, it had not become infected.

Dick ran his hands through his hair, only to have it fall back into his eyes. He pulled open the cabinet behind the mirror open to look for some ointment to put on his brand, but what he found was not at all what he expected. Sitting right before his eyes was a bottle of hair gel, a peace offering from Slade, he assumed. Taking it off the shelf, he turned on the sink, pulled off the lid, and dumped the contents of the bottle down the drain.

He dunked his head under the steady flow of warm water to wet his hair. Standing up straight, he grabbed a towel off the rack and dabbed at his hair. Pulling open several drawers, he looked for a pair of scissors, but found none. Shrugging, he grabbed his razor out of the cabinet and wet it. Brushing his hair flat with a comb he had found sitting on the counter, he seized an ebony lock between his thumb and forefinger and began to saw at it with the razor.

He watched as the dark damp hair fell to the tiled floor and he continued with his work. Dick started with his bangs first, sawing through the strands of hair until they fell away. He left his bangs long enough to still reach his eyes, but short enough to stay out of the way. Cosmetology was not his specialty, and he was not a master at it, but he didn't think he was doing a half bad job. He tried to layer it back, but the cuts were uneven due to his improper tools. Some strands were too long, others too short. But over all, it wasn't a terrible haircut. It made him look more mature, more of a young adult than a teenager.

Towel drying his hair further, he ran his hands through his raven locks, messing his hair slightly. It was almost like the haircut Leroy had worn, just a little bit more under control. His mind flashed back to the picture of him that had been printed in the paper. Him with his cocky grin and gelled up hair. He grimaced and looked at the new image of himself in the mirror. He wasn't the same boy who was in the picture anymore, so why should he look like him? Yes, the shorter, non-gelled hair fit him better. He didn't even know that boy anymore, he had to stop trying to be him.

Cleaning up the hair that had fallen to the ground, Dick picked up his mask and shirt, then exited the bathroom. He passed Wintergreen's bedroom and went into his own. Closing the door behind him, he listened to the lock click shut before dropping his shirt on the floor, placing his mask on the nightstand, and collapsing on the bed. He buried his face in his pillow and sighed, releasing the tension in his back. Kicking off his shoes, he rolled onto his side and stared at the wall for a while before drifting off to sleep.

_The area he was standing in was dark, the air was moist, and he was gripping something in his right hand. Beads of sweat formed on his hair line and dripped down his back, though it was not hot. His body shook slightly and he was having trouble catching his breath. It was so dark that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Reaching up his empty hand, he touched the skin around his eyes to find he was not wearing a mask. But when he touched his face, a strange substance smeared under his eye._

_The darkness was replaced by dim lighting and the scene that met his eyes was horrific. His friends lay mangled all around him. Blood soaked the floor and was splattered on the wall. A knife rested in his hand, it was covered in the red liquid. With a sickening shock, he realized he was wearing Slade's apprentice uniform. He jumped when a hand rested on his shoulder. Turning around, he found Slade standing behind him. He didn't pull away._

_Starfire was the closest to him. Her emerald eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. Her skirt was torn and bruises covered her body. Her throat was cut so deeply that bone could be seen. He looked away only to cast his eyes on Cyborg's motionless figure. His human eye was closed and instead of being blue, his robot parts were gray. Beast Boy lay next to him on his stomach, a knife wound was all too visible in his back._

_Speedy was slumped against a wall with several of his own arrows sticking out of his chest. His bow lay a couple of feet away, broken in two. Raven's head was turned to an odd angle, her neck had been snapped. Her dark hair was cast over her face and her cape had been removed. A pair of pleading green eyes caught his attention. Kid Flash was propped against a wall, a knife wound deep in his gut. His chest rose and fell with shuddering breaths. Blood poured from the wound in his stomach, but he was trying to stop the flow with shaky hands._

"_Did I do this?" Dick asked breathlessly._

_Kid Flash managed to nod. Dick dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to his fallen friend, but he kept the knife in his hand. He pressed down on the speedster's wound, earning him a dull groan. He watched terrified as his friend's eyes glazed over and his head dropped to his chest. Dick rocked back on his heels and stared at the wall. He had killed his friends_

_Glancing over his shoulder, he found that Slade was gone. In his place was a figure cloaked in darkness. A black cape rested on his shoulders, covering his body. His cowl was down and he was slowly walking towards Dick. Bruce's face was unreadable, but if looks could kill Dick would be rolling over in his grave. Unsteadily getting to his feet, Dick faced his mentor._

"_You killed them," Bruce accused._

"_I-I didn't mean to," Dick sobbed._

"_He can't tell you what to do anymore," came Slade's voice. "Kill him, leave behind what is left of your life before."_

Dick woke with a start. He was drenched in cold sweat and he was panting like he had just run a mile. His heart was pounding in his ears. A sharp pain shot through his body and he clutched his chest and fell back onto the bed. After he controlled his breathing, he brought his hands to his face and began to sob. His salty tears soaked into his pillow and his sobs were so quiet that he could hardly hear them.

A soft click and thud brought his attention back to the present. Wiping tears from his eyes, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His door had opened. Without bothering to put on his mask, shirt, or shoes, he exited the room. It was dark, but once again the dark was hid turf and he had no trouble maneuvering. He stepped into the kitchen and was surprised when the clock above the counter read 1:14 AM. He had slept through supper. Why hadn't Wintergreen woken him up?

A small breeze swept through the kitchen, causing Dick to shiver. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, trying to find some warmth. To his left the sliding glass door was open. The yellow curtains that were draped over it twisted and turned with the cold air that passed through the house. For a moment Dick contemplated closing the door and going back to bed, but the crisp night air called to him. It whispered secrets and promises that he could not refuse.

Gooseflesh prickled on his skin like little hills as he stepped through the doorway. Breathing the night air, he sighed. It made him feel at home. Rushing towards the end of the cement porch, Dick flung out his hand, grabbed the edge, and did a one handed cartwheel off the side. Firmly planting his feet in the grass, he threw up his hands as if expecting the imaginary crowd to burst into applause.

God, the night felt so good. His feet were wet from the dew drops that clung to each blade of grass as if it were their life lines. Water rimmed the bottom of his jeans, turning them a darker shade of blue. The stars shone like a million tiny diamonds in the sky. A crescent moon hung in the air. The darkness wrapped around him and he embraced it. Dick wanted to do backflips, front flips, and just feel the night air, but something stopped him.

The dogs were keeping their distance with their heads bowed low to the ground. That could only mean one thing. Yanking his body around, he crossed his arms in front of his face in the shape of an X, like he had done all those weeks ago. He caught the fist that had been aimed toward his face and elbowed his attacker in the stomach. Through the veil of darkness he saw Slade clutch his stomach and stumble back a few steps before standing up straight and folding his arms behind his back.

"Very good, Dick. Your fighting skills and perception are growing stronger."

Dick was uncomfortable, he didn't know how to accept the praise. He didn't know if he wanted it for that matter. Bruce never told him how good he did, he only told him to work harder. His friends would express their praise through noogies and high fives, which he couldn't do with Slade. He didn't relax from his fighting position because he wouldn't be able to jump back into it fast enough if Slade decided to strike. But he released the tension in his shoulders. Modesty was his best option.

"Your dogs gave you away."

"You cut your hair." It was a statement, not a question.

"It was getting in my way."

"Next time, ask Will to cut it."

"I don't think it looks that bad."

"It doesn't look that good either."

The corner of Dick's mouth twitched as if he were going to smile. "Why'd you bring me out here?"

"You're one with the darkness, it's your territory," Slade said. "Most of my operations take place in the night. It is only logical to work with your strengths."

"What of my weaknesses?"

"You had few to begin with, and we have mostly taken care of them."

"And they were?"

"Your temper, for one, but you have learned to control it," he said. "And you were too emotionally attached to the Titans. Even though you are my apprentice, if something were to happen to you, I'd be able to move on."

Slade had struck a nerve within him. It was his turn to strike back. "What about Wintergreen? You seem pretty attached to him."

"Nobody knows about him."

"What if I were to turn on you?"

"I think you are too attached to Will to harm him."

Dick knew he was right. He could never harm Wintergreen. He let his hands drop to his sides and the second he let his guard down, Slade sprung. He received a hard blow to the jaw, but he managed to backflip out of the way before the masked man could get another punch in. He swung at Slade and landed several to his chest before crouching to the ground and swiping his feet out from under him. But before Slade hit the ground he flipped to his feet.

Under his mask, Slade was smiling. Dick was getting good, his anger no longer controlled him. He was quick and precise. He had always held back with sparring with Dick for he didn't want to seriously injure the boy before he made his first appearance as his apprentice. But it had come to the point where he didn't have to hold back as much. He wouldn't show Dick his full wrath. No, he wasn't ready for that yet.

He caught Dick's foot that had been flying towards his face and threw him to the side, but he did a back handspring back to his feet. He charged at Slade and tried to ram his shoulder into him, but the older man simply sidestepped him and watched slightly amused as Dick fell flat on his face. By that point the boy's anger was beginning to resurface. He had been doing so good earlier.

"Keep your anger in check," Slade reminded.

Dick threw a couple of blind punches before taking several deep breaths and calming himself. He raised his fists and readied himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the kitchen light had been turned on. The silhouette of Wintergreen silently watching the fight could be seen behind the glass doors. Dick rushed at Slade, ducked under his swing, and hit the man in the small of his back.

Slade couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of Dick, the boy adapted well. He had hardly taught him anything, they had pretty much gone over his basic fighting skills. But even fighting against Slade's advanced training, Dick proved that he could hold his own. He was strong and growing stronger, but if he accepted Slade and truly began to train under him, he would be unbeatable.

He could see that Dick's mind wasn't completely in the battle. He was distracted by Wintergreen observing them from the kitchen. In a real battle he would probably have been dead by then. Slade needed to teach him a lesson. He sprinted at Dick and aimed a kick at his chest, right at his exposed brand. He hit him hard, harder than he meant to. Time seemed to freeze for a second, with Dick just standing there, a shocked expression written on his face. And then he crumpled to the ground like a ton of bricks.

Slade took a couple of steps back and folded his hands behind him. He watched Dick, who lay face down on the ground and waited for him to get back up and resume the fight. A smile crossed his face. Turning his back on the boy, he waited for the surprise attack that never came. He turned back around to find Dick to be in the same crumpled heap he had been in previously. He had expected Dick to jump back to his feet and continue where they left off.

"Dick, stop fooling around. Get up," Slade ordered.

But he did not move. It became apparent that something was terribly wrong. He quickly moved to Dick's side and knelt next to the boy. Gently rolling him over, the sight he saw shocked him. Glassy blue eyes stared blankly at the stars that shone above, his mouth was slightly agape and all of his muscles were relaxed. Slade's hand hovered over his mouth, but he did not feel him exhale. He placed two fingers on his wrist, and then on his neck. Neither had a pulse.

He had killed Dick. Removing his mask, he carelessly tossed it to the side and laid the boy's small body flat on his back. Slade tilted Dick's head back, pinched his nose shut, and breathed twice for him. He began chest compressions. But Dick's body did not respond.

* * *

_I feel like you're probably reading this while completely flipping your shit over this. Or you may not be reading this at all because the chapter just killed you. For your sakes, I hope it was the first one. Please review and tell me what you thought (and if you survived)!_


	15. Alone, but Never Alone

_Would've had this up sooner, but my laptop screen got broken before I got a chance to post. So then I had to retype it on a crappy desktop, which I'll have to use for at least the next month until my laptop gets fixed. I am aware of the events of the last chapter, but please just bear with me until about chapter 17._

* * *

She woke up feeling completely and utterly alone. Rachel's eyes snapped open and she shot into a sitting position, gasping for air. Her violet eyes darted wildly around the room like she expected something to pop out of the shadows. Easing back into the bed, she pulled the comforter over her head and stared at the pitch black inside.

Poking her head out from under the covers, she calmed herself down. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't in her room at the Tower. She was tucked away in a guest bedroom among the lonely halls of Wayne Manor. Mr. Wayne had been generous enough to allow her and the Titans to stay in the mansion while they searched for Robin. But the act of kindness seemed to be a waste because he was never at home, nor did he share any information about the ongoing investigation.

She smoothed her hair back and tried to remember what had gotten her so worked up. Had she had a nightmare? No, her sleep had been dreamless. She searched her brain for an explanation, but she found a hole. The hole that part of Robin used to occupy. She couldn't see his memories or see secrets any longer. Though they were still there, they were not as vivid as they had been when they were connected to his mind. Tears filled her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. The connection between her and Robin could be broken by one thing and one thing only.

Death.

She needed to tell Bruce. Pulling off her blankets, she slid her bare legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She wore nothing more than a long purple nightshirt that reached her knees. Rachel's dark hair was a tangled mess on top of her head. It looked like a bird had tried to make a nest in it. The clock beside her bed told her that it was one thirty in the morning. Bruce wouldn't be in. He was probably out patrolling Gotham as the Dark Knight. But still her feet led her across the room and out the bedroom door.

Rachel's feet padded along the cold marble floors of Wayne Manor. She was in a narrow hallway in the east wing of the mansion. Her eyes stared directly forward, not seeing anything but taking everything in. her feet kept going but her mind didn't know where. It was like she was on autopilot or in a trance. Finally, her feet stopped in front of a large white door no different from any of the others in that hallway. Suddenly she realized where she was. Her brow furrowed and she tried to turn around and go back to her room to wait for Bruce, but her body refused to comply.

Why was she there anyway? Rachel almost rolled her eyes at how stupid the question was. She was there to be comforted, to have someone hold her and feed her lies. To have someone tell her everything would be all right, even though it most certainly would not. Her hand glowed white in the pale moonlight as she reached out to grip the doorknob. Her whole body shook, she was seconds away from a complete breakdown.

The door popped open to reveal a room identical to the one she had been staying in. It had beige walls with white molding and elegant hardwood floors. A four poster bed with see through drapes and white sheets stood in parallel to a tall window. The only difference was the clothes that littered the floor, taking away from the simple beauty of the room. The room's occupant was tucked under the white comforter, but he stirred when he heard Rachel open the door.

Garfield sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes, careful not to scratch himself with his ring. The light from the crescent moon turned his skin and hair a ghostly pale. His green eyes shone like those of a cat in the darkness. He could make out a form standing in the doorway, but it was too dark to tell who it was, until he was encased in black energy and levitated above his bed for a few seconds.

"Rae?" he asked.

"Yeah," came a soft reply.

He sat cross-legged on the bed and patted the spot beside him as an invitation for Rachel. He didn't know if she had seen the gesture in the dark, but she entered anyway. From the way she had lifted him off the bed, he could tell that something was terribly wrong. It was unlike her to lose control of her powers. He listened to her feet slap against the cold floor and idly wondered why she wasn't wearing any socks.

Rachel's pale face shone like the moon as she made her way through the dark room. She sat down next to Garfield and stared at the open door of the room, unable to speak. He sat quietly beside her, waiting for her. He did not want to push Rachel, she would speak when she was ready. A sob escaped her throat and her head fell onto his shoulders. Surprised by her actions, he awkwardly patted her back, unsure of what else to do.

"He…he's gone," Rachel sobbed. "The connection's broken."

"Gone as in not in your head anymore, or gone as in…" He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

"The connection can only be broken by death," she whispered. "He's dead."

"No," Garfield said firmly. "No, Robin can't be dead."

"Gar, please-"

"No. You….you're lying."

"Garfield," she said, "We need to pull it together."

Tears spilled from his eyes and he clutched Rachel's arm tightly. Deep down, he knew she was telling the truth. His heart believed her, but his mind didn't want to process what she way saying. So he broke down and sobbed like a baby. Rachel wrapped her arm around his shuddering shoulders and gave them a gently, yet reassuring, squeeze. Garfield could not hear her crying, but he could feel her warm tears soaking the shoulder of his pajamas.

He could not believe Robin was dead. A surge of anger ripped through him but it went away quickly, only to be replaced by grief yet again. Straightening out his back, he swallowed the sob that rose in his throat and wrapped his arms around Rachel in a comforting hug. He had to be strong. The team would be crushed when they got word of their friend's death. He had to be strong for them. It's what Robin would have done.

He covered his face as the clock on his nightstand shattered into a million pieces, making Rachel cry harder. She buried her face into his chest as she sobbed. Garfield rubbed soothing circles on her back as her cries filled the room. It was strange to see her in such an exposed state. Normally she surrounded herself with ten foot high walls that could be penetrated by no one. But there she was, lying in his arms as weak and helpless as the day she was born. But he couldn't blame her. He missed the girl who would shut herself away from emotion, but could still crack the best jokes ever. She wasn't the only one out of character though, they were all off their game. They felt lost without Robin, but now he was gone from their lives forever.

Robin had changed them for the better in many ways. Garfield remembered the first time he met the Boy Wonder. He had wanted to be a follower, to have someone boss him around. Robin had taught him to pave his own path and to his own person, to not take crap from anyone. He had quite literally gone to Hell and back to save Raven from a future she thought to be inevitable. Robin had taught her that nothing is set in stone, that life is just the first sheet of paper waiting to be written into a book known as the future.

He had taught Cyborg that even though his metal body had limits, he could overcome them with a little bit of effort and sheer willpower. And lastly he had taught Starfire how to trust. Had he not been there when she touched down on Earth, Jump City would have been wiped off the map. Robin had taught them many things over the short period of time he had been with them, but the most important thing he had taught them was that friendship was magic. Sure, it was sappy like something from My Little Pony, but it was true.

At the sound of the mirror above the dresser cracking, Rachel's sobs died down. She regained control of her emotions and mentally counted backwards from ten. More than anything in that moment she wanted to meditate, but it could wait until morning. She was going to be selfish and let herself grieve for her lost friend. Hiccupping, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and pulled away from Garfield's embrace.

"I'd have seven years of bad luck over losing him any day," she whispered.

"We'll get through this," he murmured.

Rachel sniffled. "Gar, I'm sorry."

He was taken aback. "For what?"

"For being a jerk and bossing you around and treating you like a little kid. Gar, you've really grown into a man."

"Does this mean you'll call me Beast Man now?"

"Not a chance."

He chuckled slightly and fell back onto his pillows. Much to his surprise, Rachel awkwardly laid down beside him. After several minutes of interrupted silences, it became apparent that she was not going to ask for the comfort she still longed for. She tilted her head onto his chest and breathed in his scent. His name was Beast Boy, so needless to say he didn't smell pleasant, but he smelt familiar and it made her feel somewhat happy.

"Gar?" she asked about ten minutes later.

"Hmmm…?" he replied, already drifting off to sleep.

"You know I like you, right?" Rachel hesitated. "That you're one of my best friends and I tease you because joking seems to be your thing and I'm just trying to relate.

"I know, Rae," he mumbled.

Rachel rolled onto her side and let her arm snake its way over his body. She let the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull her to sleep, but sleep never came. The moment was perfect, the pillows were perfectly plumped, she was very comfortable, and she had one of her best friends by her side. Yet she could not calm her active mind.

The empty space in her head was keeping her away. Once again, sorrow hit her full force like a slap to the face. She held back the fresh wave of tears, but she choked on a sob, causing Garfield to stir. Rachel quickly slapped a hand over her mouth and studied him. Sleep had settled over him. His face was peaceful and his body relaxed. Rachel almost expected him to snore. Rolling away from him, she buried her face in a pillow and tried to sleep.

"Rae?" came a sleepy voice.

"Yes?"

"Can't you sleep?"

She shook her head, but when she realized he couldn't see her, she said, "No."

Funny, I can do it with my eyes closed."

"It's just…the connection's gone. Normally during the night I can feel Robin's peace. Sometimes our dreams even merge. But now I feel so alone."

The bed creaked as he rolled over and lazily threw an arm over her. "Rae, you'll always have us, and as long as we're here you're never alone."

She shrugged out from under his arm. "Deep down, I know you're right. But I just can't accept that right now. It doesn't show at the moment, but I mourn differently than other people. Tomorrow morning after we break the news to Mr. Wayne, I'm hightailing it to Nevermore. I need to isolate myself or my emotions will become too much for me to bear."

He was silent for a moment. "Should we tell the others?"

"Let them have one last night of peaceful dreams."

* * *

Kory's nimble fingers quickly crossed each strand of hair over another as she braided her hair over her shoulder. She quietly hummed the melody to a song she could not remember the name of as she worked. Twisting a ponytail in her hair, she admired her handiwork in the mirror, before rising into the air and floating over to her bed.

She had had a marvelous dream the previous night. It had been about Robin. They had been back on top of the Ferris Wheel, eating cotton candy while the brilliant fireworks exploded. It wasn't much, but it filled her with joy. Slipping on an old pair of Nike's, she ran out of her bedroom and down the hall. Kory couldn't wait to share her dream with her friends.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows in the grand mansion. The air was beginning to warm and small flowers were starting to emerge from the ground. Spring was by far Kory's favorite season. All the colors and smells sent her heart soaring like a kite. The way Earth constantly changed truly amazed her.

Her sneakers squeaked as she practically bounced down the steps. Kory tried not to fly often around the mansion, because she was in her civilian identity and normal people don't fly. But she was so happy that it was hard to keep her feet on the ground. Abandoning all efforts, she rose into the air and zipped down the remainder of the stairs, nearly taking out Alfred, who stood at the bottom staring bewildered at an envelope clutched tightly in his hands.

She pushed open the kitchen door to find the kitchen to be less chaotic than usual. Victor was flipping pancakes at the stove, whistling merrily as he cooked. Rachel sat on a stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. She had a cup of tea held in her trembling hands, staring blankly at the wall. Garfield sat beside her, poking at his tofu eggs halfheartedly with his fork.

"Friends!" Kory exclaimed. "Why are there no arguments on which food should be consumed? Or jokes and playful banter?"

Victor shrugged. "Those two have been all doom and gloom since they got up."

"What is wrong?"

"They won't say."

Alfred entered the kitchen and gave the teenagers a warm smile. He gently laid a white envelope on the counter and got to work preparing the master's breakfast. Though it was his job to do all the housework and cooking, the Titans insisted on helping. It was nice to have people in the lonely mansion.

He sat a china plate piled high with delicacies onto a silver platter and arranged an unopened rose in a vase. Placing the lid on the set, he began to leave the kitchen. Needless to say, he was quite surprised when Bruce himself stepped into the room.

"Master Bruce, I was unaware you would be joining us for breakfast."

"I got invited," he said, holding up a post it note. "It was stuck to my door."

"While you're present, I found a letter with your name on it on the front step of the manor," Alfred said. "It has no return address."

"Could it be the ransom note?" Victor asked.

Bruce shook his head. "They aren't interested in ransom."

"Glad you're tellin' us now," Vic scoffed. "When do you plan on tellin' us about the video? Or the kid that died?"

"I can see why Speedy didn't want to involve Kid Flash," he replied icily.

"Please," Kory interjected. "I am most confused."

"He hasn't been truthful. No, he just doesn't want our help, Star," Victor said pointedly. "He's holding information from us."

Bruce ignored them and picked up the letter that sat on the counter. His name was neatly printed on the back. He slowly began to open it. Though the letter itself was suspicious, he did not expect it to contain the Joker's laughing toxin or Scarecrow's fear gas.

Rachel took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose. Shooting Garfield a sideways glance, she saw him nod. She did not want to make the situation worse by breaking the news to them, but it couldn't be avoided. Standing up and clearing her throat, all eyes fell on her. She shifted uncomfortably, not used to being the center of attention.

"Last night, my connection with Dick was…broken."

Kory's brow furrowed in confusion. "So you can no longer sense his emotions?"

"He's dead," Gar said bluntly before fleeing the kitchen.

Tears sprung in Kory's eyes. "That cannot be true."

"Starfire," Rachel said gently, but before she could say anything Kory zipped out of the room.

Bruce was shocked into silence. What Rachel said couldn't be true. Could it? His face became hard and his body rigid. She had been having trouble reading his emotions since he had been kidnapped. It was possible that Deathstroke had simply moved Dick and the connection had been broken because of the distance between the two.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Wayne," Rachel murmured.

That was it.

"Get out," Bruce growled. "You are useless to this investigation. There is no reason for your to continue staying here."

"Maybe we wouldn't be useless if you'd let us help," Victor snapped.

"Victor," Rachel said gently. "We lost a friend, but he lost a son."

"Help them pack, Alfred," Bruce said. "I want them out as soon as possible."

He watched as the three left before collapsing onto a stool by the island. He placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. Dick couldn't be dead, it just wasn't possible. He rubbed circles into his temples. He would not tell anyone what the Titans had told him. It could affect the search for his lost ward.

Peeling open his eyes, he found the unread letter sitting in front of him. Pulling it from the envelope, he began to read.

_3/13_

_Dear Bruce, _

_You can probably tell by the date why I'm writing. I honestly don't know if this will be delivered, but it still helps just writing it. Every year gets harder. I miss them so much. Normally I have you or my team to cheer me up, but this has definitely been the hardest._

_There's no time like the present, Bruce. So I want to apologize to you for any ignorant or rude thing I've said or done. For two years, I've waited for you to say that, but I guess it was time for me to build a bridge and get over it._

_Bruce, you can't even imagine how hard things are for me. Are you even looking? I hope so. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I'm close to my breaking point. I think I've hit my limit. To be honest, I don't know if I want to survive through this._

_I know, you trained me better, but it's so hard. Survive, or uphold to all my morals. My mind and heart are torn in two. I'm breaking, if I'm not broken already._

_I hope you understand._

_-Robin_

Bruce felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. This note was his son crying out to him for help. And from what he read, Dick didn't have much time, if he was even alive at all. Quickly rereading the letter, he felt his hands begin to shake. He carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

He had a lot of work to do.

* * *

_Yes, I know, this chapter didn't resolve much. You're just gonna have to wait and see. But I'll be nice and make an effort to type the next chapter tomorrow._


	16. Cat on a Ledge

The early sunlight filtered through the dirty windows of the one bedroom apartment. Dust and pollen danced in the sun rays, then floated to the ground like delicate snowflakes. The once white walls were stained beige and the paint had begun to peel. The wooden floors desperately needed to be sanded and finished.

The sun fell upon Jade's beautiful face. Dust particles fell onto her long eyelashes and her dark eyes fluttered open. Roy was asleep beside her. His red hair was a mess and his arm was thrown over his face to block out the light. His lower body was twisted in the green sheets and he snored lightly.

She quietly crawled out of the bed before Roy could roll over and wrap his arm around her. Tugging her old t-shirt off, she put on a pair of jeans and a green tank top. Jade didn't even bother trying to tame her wild mane of hair. She simply pulled it back into a ponytail. Glancing at Roy, she grabbed her gym bag that contained her costume and slung it on her shoulder.

The night before, she had searched every inch of the apartment for any sign of drugs. Luckily, she had not found anything. Maybe Roy was finally going straight, she really hoped so. He would be of no use to anyone drugged up, least of all Robin. She shook her head. Jade didn't know how much longer Roy could stay strong, depression had set in.

From the information Jade had gathered, it seemed like Deathstroke had run out of the shadows, grabbed Robin, and gone into hiding. He hadn't contacted anyone. Not that Deathstroke needed anyone, but it seemed like he had cut himself off from the rest of the world. A frown settled over her face. Of all the people Deathstroke could have chosen for an apprentice, why had he picked Robin?

She was quite jealous of the Boy Wonder. Unlike him, she would have willingly become Deathstroke's apprentice. Guilt gripped Jade's heart. She had promised Roy that she would try to leave that life behind, just as he had promised to break his addiction. For now she had to be Cheshire. She would do whatever it took to find Robin. Steal, blackmail, torture, kill, whatever it may be. Because the only way to save Roy was to save Robin.

Jade's thoughts were interrupted by a gust of wind and a yellow, red, and orange blur. Her hair whipped in her face and her heart raced. She was so screwed. She was currently standing in the living room. Glancing around, she found an open window and propelled herself out of it. Hanging by her fingertips on a window sill thirty feet in the air, she prayed no one closed the window.

From what she had seen, Kid Flash had run directly into the bedroom. He was in for a surprise. She smiled slightly when she heard him run back out and yell at Roy to put some clothes on. He must not have seen her when he zipped in. The thought of checking out his civilian identity briefly cross her mind, but she couldn't risk being seen. Roy had told her Kid Flash was a blabber mouth.

Wally crossed the dirty living room and plopped down on an ugly green couch next to an open window. He was dressed in a red t-shirt with a yellow sweatshirt over it. He had on an old pair of jeans and worn sneakers. His ginger hair was windswept from running almost nonstop from Central City to Star. He should have probably eaten something to keep up with his metabolism, but for once he didn't have an appetite.

He placed his face in one hand and ran his fingers through his hair. Tears threatened to make an appearance, but he blinked them back. He could break down after he delivered the bad news to Roy. Goosebumps rose on his pale skin, the morning air coming through the open window chilled him to the bone. He was about to get up and close the window when Roy emerged from the bedroom.

The redheaded archer wore nothing more than a pair of navy blue boxers and a stained wife beater. He stretched his stiff limbs, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and gave Wally a tired smile that was not returned. He crossed the room and held out a fist to the speedster, but he was left hanging. A worried expression crossed his face and he sat next to Wally, whose shoulders were slumped forward and his eyes fixed blankly on the floor.

"Roy," he said finally, still not looking up, "Have you been in contact with the Titans?"

"No." Concern laced his voice. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"You know that goth chick, Raven?"

Roy nodded.

"Apparently, she and Dick have some kind of special bond. Like a mind thing." Wally's voice cracked. "She felt him pass."

"Pass?" Roy asked, dumbstruck.

"Roy, there's a good chance he's dead."

Wally watched as his words sunk in and all the color drained from Roy's face. For a second he was shell-shocked, then his face twisted in anger and a feral growl ripped from his throat. Before Wally knew it, Roy was up off the couch, beating on the wall. The force of his fists rattled his TV and caused a framed picture to fall off his end table. After a few more hits, he calmed down.

Resting his forehead against the dirty wall, he gulped down air before moaning and breaking down in sobs. Tears streaked down his cheeks like shooting stars. Suddenly Wally was at his side with a comforting hand placed on his shoulder. His body shook with sobs and it was a wonder he didn't vibrate right through the floor. Salty tears leaked from his eyes. The snaked down his face and met at his chin before descending upon the floor.

Roy slowly turned around to face Wally. His blue eyes were red and puffy from crying. The young speedster almost wished he were wearing his mask. He wanted Roy to be strong because he himself could not be. Strong arms wrapped around his shaking body and he was surprised to find himself being pulled into a hug. Without a second thought, he accepted the embrace and let it all out.

The two boys stood there sobbing hysterically in each other's arms. Normally they weren't the touchy-feely types. They usually beat on each other like siblings. But the hug was appropriate, for they had lost their little brother, possibly forever. After a few minutes, Roy's sobs died down, but Wally still clung to him. When he finally found the strength to pull away from his best friend, he found the archer's eyes locked onto something on the other side of the room.

Stepping away from Wally, Roy walked briskly across the room and knelt before his end table. Glass lay shattered on the splintered floor, the frame of the picture lay broken in two. Brushing aside the glass, he carefully slid the photo out of the wreckage and held it in his hands as if it were as delicate as a butterfly. Three bright smiling faces beamed up at him. He ran his thumb over Dick's happy face and fought back another wave of tears. In the picture, Dick was on Wally's back and Roy had the raven haired boy in a headlock. The picture had been taken before he had quit being Batman's partner.

"I'm going to kill him," Roy snarled. "Deathstroke is a dead man walking. I have an arrow in my sheath with his name on it."

"Batman wouldn't want-" Wally began.

"Who gives a damn?" he snapped. "This isn't about Bruce, this is about Dick."

"But would _he _want it?"

"I guess we'll never know."

Wally visibly flinched. "Don't say that, Roy. There's still a chance that Dick is out there alive, waiting for us to rescue him.

"You said it yourself, Raven felt him die."

"I know what I said," he replied sharply. "But I've been going over Batman's information on Deathstroke. This guy's a genius! Maybe he found a way to make it seem like Dick was dead to throw the League off his trail."

Roy sighed. "That's just wishful thinking."

Wally's eyes narrowed. "You were the last person I would expect to lose hope this fast."

The young archer was still staring at the photograph of the three happy boys. Where had those days gone? How had he let those moments slip through his fingers like sand? Time truly flew, and he hadn't savored every moment or lived it to its fullest. Now he was only left with the memories of what used to be.

Inside, his heart was torn in two. Half wanted to believe that Dick was still alive, but the other half accepted he lost his little brother. Looking from Wally's smiling face in the picture to his grief stricken one in reality, he realized he would do anything to see him smile like that again. He had to be strong, for Wally.

"You're right," he lied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "I'm being worse than Bruce."

Wally smiled. "We only need one Batman."

"We will find Dick," Roy said, crossing the room and handing the speedster the photo. "With the help of the League or not."

"I'm glad you came to your senses." Wally paused. "Look, I'm sorry to stop then run, I just thought you should know. I gotta go or Aunt Iris will kill me for missing breakfast."

"Be careful," Roy said. "If you run into any trouble on the way back, give me a call. I'll be there in a flash."

"That's my lame joke!"

"Technically, it's your Uncle Barry's."

Wally hesitated. "Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone about this. If they find out that there's even the slightest possibility that Dick is dead, this will turn from a rescue to a recovery mission."

Before Roy could reply, Wally sped out. For a few seconds, he stood in silence, then he collapsed on the couch. He shook uncontrollably as sobs wracked his body. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he let out all the guilt and sorrow that had built up within him over the last couple months. He had wasted time not telling the Justice League that Deathstroke had Robin. Maybe if he had told them sooner, they would have found him and Dick would still be alive.

Roy jumped slightly as slender arms wrapped around his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. He gave Jade a startled look before his face contorted in grief and he continued to sob. Her black hair tickled his cheek as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his temple. He shivered in pleasure as an electric thrill coursed through his body from the spot Jade had kissed. He hadn't heard her come in. She was as silent as the cat she was named after, but he was glad she was there. He needed her comfort.

Jade felt very little sympathy for her boyfriend. She mostly felt anger towards Kid Flash. Did he have any clue as to what he did to Roy? This could have pushed him over the edge, back into drug use. She tightened her grip on Roy further, she would not lose him again. Leaning forward so that her mouth hovered next to his ear, she whispered to him.

"You're weak, Harper."

Almost immediately the sobbing stopped. "W-What?"

"If you're going to give up because some Titan told you he was dead, then you're weak."

"Jade…" he said, unsure.

"You should've listened to Kid Flash, he had a good point. Deathstroke is extremely smart, this could all be a set up."

"But what if it wasn't?"

"Then why would he have gone through all the trouble of kidnapping him and covering up his tracks?"

"Same reason the Joker would have done it," Roy said. "To break Batman."

"Deathstroke had plenty of opportunities to kill Robin," Jade pointed out. "He could have done it in that alley, or even in the car accident."

Roy knew she was right. It didn't make sense to just kill him after everything he went through to get him. But then again, Roy knew very little about Deathstroke. He would have to rely on the information Jade gave him. She seemed to worship the very ground the man walked on. It must have been killing her to work against him, but it reminded Roy that she loved him more than she loved being an assassin.

"Roy, I'm not giving up," Jade said. "There's no body, so there's no proof that he's dead."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because I care about you."

Roy sighed. "So say he _is _alive. What guarantee do I have that he will be the same person?"

Jade had seen firsthand the pain Deathstroke could inflict. She had seen the mangled bodies that had been tortured to the point of insanity, then killed. There was little to no chance that Robin would be the same person when they rescued him, if they rescued him. True, she cared nothing for the Boy Wonder, but her heart ached for him just a little bit. She decided not to share her thoughts with Roy, as she did not want to cause him further distress.

"Robin is strong," was all she said.

* * *

_I'm gonna try to post chapter 17 sometime next week. _


	17. Back from the Dead?

_And now for the chapter you've all been waiting like two weeks for..._

* * *

His eyes slowly peeled open to be greeted with darkness. Though he was warm, his body ached, mainly his chest. He felt cushioning under his back and it took him a moment to realize he was in his bed. His brow furrowed, he did not recall going back to bed. The last thing he remembered was sparring with Slade. Then….then nothing. His mind drew a complete blank. Maybe he had been so tired afterward that he had gone straight to bed.

Dick removed his covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Sitting up, he listened to see if Wintergreen was asleep in his room, but he heard nothing. Standing up and taking a step forward, he felt something tug at his ankle and he fell on all fours. Had he been restrained to the bed? Reaching his hand towards his ankle, he realized he was trembling. It suddenly hit him how exhausted he was. It was an effort to keep his eyes open.

Feeling his ankle through the darkness, Dick found he was not tied to the bed, he had simply gotten tangled in a cord. He frowned slightly, there were no cords in his room. He had nothing to plug in, even his alarm clock was battery powered. Speaking of clocks, he peered through the dark to read the time, but he could not find the numbers glowing green like Kryptonite. Shrugging, he figured the batteries must have died.

Turning his attention back to the cord, he followed it to find it attached to something bowl-like. Even though he saw exceptionally well in the night, it was far too dark for him to see anything in the room. Giving up on trying to find out what the strange object was, he unsteadily got to his feet and made his way to the door. A little bit of light shone from the crack and Dick used it as his beacon.

When he finally reached the door, he flicked on the overhead light. The room was illuminated and he was surprised by the sheer brightness of it. It was like the sun had entered the room. Blinking his eyes furiously to get used to the light, he observed his room. A brown quilt was on his bed. No wonder he had been so warm. The batteries to his alarm clock were sitting on his nightstand and the device itself was next to them with its back removed. The strangest thing though was the oxygen tank sitting next to his bed. Attached to it was a cord and mask.

Looking down on himself, Dick found he was still wearing what he was wearing when he had sparred with Slade. His chest was care, as were his feet. Touching the corner of his eye, he learned he was not wearing his mask. But what really caught his attention was the ugly purple and black bruise on his chest. It covered up the brand over his heart. Now he was sure he would remember receiving an injury like _that._

Gently poking the tender flesh, he winced. Another wave of exhaustion hit him full force and he had trouble just staying on his feet. He would have time to think things over later. At that moment all he wanted to do was sleep. Flicking off the lights, he dragged his feet across the cream colors carpet and flopped down on his bed. Tucking himself deep within the covers, he drifted into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

The next time he woke up, he found Wintergreen standing over him. From habit, he was on his feet in a second and ready to fight, but he let his body relax when he realized who it was. Sitting down on the bed, he studied Wintergreen's face. The old man was gazing worriedly at him as if he had had a limb chopped off. Dick began to apologize, but was stopped by Wintergreen holding up a hand and sitting next to him.

"Are you alright, Dick?"

He nodded. "I think so."

His voice shook, it was feeble and weak, like a newborn kitten. His mouth tasted bad and he had an overwhelming desire to brush his teeth. What had happened to him? Why was Wintergreen so worried? Had something bad happened to him and he just wasn't aware? Why couldn't he remember what had happened? All those questions swirled through his mind, and the thing he asked was, "Where's Slade?"

Wintergreen grimaced. "He is….out. He has been very upset with himself."

"Why?" Dick asked. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head.

The old man seemed uncomfortable. "There was an accident. You…you were injured very badly because of him."

"I feel fine."

"Dick, you died," Wintergreen said bluntly.

He was shocked into silence. Had he heard Wintergreen correctly? Surely he hadn't, the very idea seemed so impossible. He looked down at the bruise on his chest. He felt extremely tired. Dick's eyes began to drift shut. Before he knew it, he was jerked awake by Wintergreen clutching his shoulder. The oxygen mask was over his face and he breathed in deeply.

Wintergreen gently lowered him onto the bed. He was quite surprised when Dick didn't protest. The boy's skin was sickly pale and his eyes were drooping shut. Throwing the quilt back over his small shaking body, he began to leave the room, only to have his wrist caught. Dick's pleading blue eyes gazed back at him. He wanted to know what happened.

"Please," Dick begged. "Please, just tell me."

Wintergreen sighed. "While you two were sparring, you got distracted. Slade used that to his advantage. But the kick to your chest had enough force behind it to stop your heart."

"So this is basically all my fault?"

"Didn't say that."

"But it's true," he insisted. "One of the first things Bruce taught me was that getting distracted during battle could be the difference between life and death. Obviously, it was death in this situation."

"Dick," he protested.

"I don't want to hear it," the acrobat said, crossing his arms over his bruised chest. "It's no one's fault except for mine."

Wintergreen saw no point in arguing further. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry, sore."

Dick watched as the old man left the room. Rolling his eyes in frustration, he snuggled his body deeper into the warm comfort of the bed. He wanted to ask more questions, but it seemed like Wintergreen was done talking. His mouth opened wide as he yawned, letting his eyes drift shut. He saw no harm in resting them for a few moments. His mind wanted to sleep, but his body fought way the blissful darkness with the hunger pains that gnawed at his stomach.

After a few minutes, he gave up on sleep. Sitting up, he leaned his uncovered back against the cool backboard of the bed and closed his tired eyes. The sweet aroma of baking food wafted from the kitchen, causing his stomach to growl. Moaning, he tilted his head back and ignored the smell that taunted him. He didn't care what it was, he was just hungry. For all he cared, it could have been gray mush.

After what seemed like hours but in reality was probably only ten minutes, Wintergreen reentered the room. He held a wooden tray in his hands. On the tray was a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries in it. Beside the bowl was a jar of honey and a spoon. A tall glass of milk, filled to the brim, sat beside them. Dick grimaced as the tray was set in front of him. He was not particularly fond of oatmeal, or anything soggy for that matter. But he was hungry, so it would do.

Wintergreen took a seat on the edge of the bed and watched as Dick drowned his mushy oats in honey and shoveled a rather large spoonful into his mouth. His mouth twisted in disgust, but he continued to shove spoonful after spoonful in his mouth. Beggars can't be choosers. Wintergreen was amused by the whole ordeal. Dick was reluctantly eating his food like a two year old refusing to take his medicine.

"I'll make eggs next time," the old man laughed.

"Actually, waffles are my favorite."

"Are you still tired?"

"A little bit," Dick admitted. "But I want to talk first."

"Ask away."

Dick took a sip of milk before talking. "First off, where's my mask?"

"On the bathroom counter," Wintergreen said. "Why do you still wear it?"

He shrugged. "The same reason Slade still wears his."

Frowning, Wintergreen gave Dick a disapproving look. The boy's stubbornness was beginning to poke through again, and that was not a good thing for anyone involved. He really didn't want to see the young acrobat receive another beating. He hoped they were over that stage. Watching Dick push his food away, he sighed. If anything was going to work out, Slade and Dick would both have to cooperate. If they would just listen to him, there would be a lot less grief for everybody.

"So I was legitimately dead?"

Wintergreen nodded. "Your heart was stopped for approximately a minute."

"Whoa," he breathed. "That's nuts."

"Slade managed to revive you. He left after making sure you were all right."

Dick decided it was time to steer the conversation in a new direction. "How long was I out?"

"Nearly eighteen hours," he replied. "You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while though."

"I only remember waking up once."

"Then I guess you won't remember calling me Alfred."

Dick settled back into his bed and pulled the blankets around his small body. It felt nice to be warm. For the last couple months, all he had was a thin sheet that did little to keep the cold away. Being warm just increased his tiredness. Sleep tried to reel him in like a fish on a hook, but he fought it. He heard Wintergreen say something, but he was too far gone to reply.

Hearing the door shut, he knew that if he were to open his eyes, he would be alone in the pitch black room. His eyelids were heavy and his breaths evened out. His body was tired and longed for sleep, but his brain was far too active to actually fall into the sweet blissfulness. He had died. It was far too much for his mind to comprehend. Slade had killed him, but he had brought him back after doing so. That showed that he cared, at least a little bit. Dick dismissed the thought. Slade didn't care, he had just spent too much time molding Dick into what he wanted to lose him to such a stupid mistake.

Then why had Slade been upset and left? Dick knew that when unwanted memories from his past resurfaced, he would often take off to gather his thoughts or calm himself down. Did the same thing apply with Slade? The man knew almost everything about Dick, but he knew very little about Slade. Other than his last name being Wilson, assuming he was telling the truth, he knew nothing. There was no way for him to gather information. On rare occasions he would be allowed to read a newspaper, but it's not like it would have an article on Mr. Wilson, who was probably an average everyday Joe.

Once again the question popped into his mind.

_Who was Slade?_

* * *

_Did you really think Charlie was going to kill off Dick? I've actually pretty much forbade her from ever writing death fics. And if she ever does, she's typing it herself. _

_I'm not sure when I'm gonna get the next chapter up. Hopefully if I can get ahold of Charlie's notebook this weekend, I can type chapter 18._


	18. Grant or Dick?

_Hello! So I should now be back to updating fairly regularly, as I have my laptop back! Or I may not, because I finally broke down and got a Tumblr, and I pretty much spend all of my spare time there now. Anyway, onto the chapter!_

* * *

Robin landed in a crouched position and immediately arched his back, doing a one handed backflip. He rushed forward with his staff clenched tightly in his right hand and hit the Slade-bot across the face in one swift motion. Okay, so it wasn't a Slade-bot like the ones he had fought in Jump City, but it moved and reacted in the same way. It stood about six feet tall and was metallic silver instead of black and orange. Its eyes were the deep red and it anticipated every move Robin was about to make. To say the least, it was a bit smarter than the ones he had fought with the Titans.

Taking a few steps back, Robin prepared to charge, but he stepped on the back of his oversized jeans and stumbled a bit. The robot saw that as an opportunity and swung at him with its sharp claws, slashing open the front of his navy blue shirt. Luckily he had been far enough away to not receive any physical damage, but he was extremely frustrated. He was not dressed properly to fight.

Attempting a roundhouse kick would be a waste of time and energy. The robot adapted to every move he made and a kick would just result in having his leg caught and him being thrown across the room. He would have to do something unexpected. Unexpected, but not rash. He had to calculate his moves, use his advantages without giving away his strengths and weaknesses. In a sense, he had to slip into Slade's mindset.

From observing the robot, he knew it thought and reacted much like a human with heightened senses. But like most humans, it was perfect to a fault. Robin found that if he rushed at it, it would simply stand its ground. But if Robin held still it would grow impatient and advance towards him. Slade had told him to study his opponent before attacking, and that's exactly what he was doing.

To ensure the robot didn't rush at him, he slowly circled it. The thing never took its ruby eyes off of Robin. Suddenly the Boy Wonder bent his knees and sprung towards the hunk of metal, who had raised an arm in defense. At the last moment Robin changed his course from the robot's chest to the right side of it. As he passed, he elbowed the machine just below the armpit and once he had passed he kicked it in the middle of its back.

The robot seemed to freeze for a second before turning around to face Robin. But the acrobat was gone before it even had a chance to spot him. He launched himself in the air and readied his bo-staff. From the last two hits, he had gathered that the robot had pressure points like a human. It seemed to short circuit when they were hit. Swinging his staff, he clipped the robot in the temple and pushed off its shoulders, doing a graceful flip to the ground.

Once again the robot froze, giving Robin enough time to get another hit in. Gripping his staff so tightly that it turned his knuckles white, he swung it with almost superhuman strength towards the delayed robot. The metal rod connected with the hunk of junk's neck, knocking its head clean off its shoulders. For a moment, the headless bot just stood there with the wires poking out of it. Then its knees buckled and it fell forward, never to move again.

Robin relaxed his shoulders and stood up straight. Retracting his bo-staff, he stuck it in his pocket and looked over his handiwork. The timer on the wall said he had taken it out in two minutes and thirteen seconds. He was quite proud of himself. True, when he was with the Titans he could have taken down an army of bots in less time, but those bots had been less intelligent. He had been angry and he had had his team's help.

He had learned to control his anger, to no longer allow it to affect his fighting. Even though he still got frustrated from time to time, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. His fighting was getting better, he'd give Slade that much credit. Was he ready to fight him without the man holding back? Most definitely not. But he learned that if he accepted that Slade was a brilliant fighter and willingly trained under him, he gained knowledge, skill, and the man's trust.

He didn't cringe as he felt a warm hand rest upon his shoulder, nor did he shrug it off. He didn't need to look to know who it was, but still he did. Craning his neck backwards, he found Slade to be standing behind him. His cold, calculating gray eye held no emotion, but Robin could tell that he was pleased by the way his hand rested on his shoulder. If he had been angry, he would have squeezed his shoulder until his knees gave way.

"Very good, Apprentice."

Robin resisted the urge to shudder at the sound of the nickname he had acquired. He hated it. Even though he was currently training under Slade, he was still the protégé of Batman. No amount of torture or brainwashing could make him forget that. He felt like he was betraying the Titans and the Justice League by giving into Slade, but it was necessary for survival. He was careful not to lose himself along the way.

"Thank you," Robin said, unable to bring himself to say 'Master'. The word was vile and he refused to say it.

"I was going to have you fix it, but that seems out of the question now."

"Are we going to spar?"

"Not today," Slade said. "Today is reserved for independent training."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "That's new."

Slade nodded his head towards the training equipment. "Go."

Knowing that Slade would be watching, Robin walked towards the bench press. The man was constantly watching to make sure that he learned _something._ Picking up two fifty-pound weights, he slid one onto each end of the already forty-five pound bar. Laying down on the bench, he grabbed the heavy bar and proceeded to work on his arm strength.

It had been exactly a week since he incident. Slade had returned the day after Robin had woken up. There had been no apologies or excuses. Slade had hardly even acknowledged the boy's presence. In the end Robin had actually asked to train. At first Slade had just made him do simple thing, like running, acrobatics, and weight lifting. Then Slade had started introducing him to new fighting techniques, lethal techniques.

Robin knew Slade was training him to kill. He also knew he would be out of there before the man had a chance to put his new skills to the test. It was only a matter of time before Batman, the League, and possibly his friends came to save him. He just had to endure, fight, survive a little longer. He figured if he had made it that far, the rest would be a breeze.

Slade had refused to spar with him since the incident. No one talked about it, they just left it how it was. But Robin couldn't help but notice how the man seemed to dance around him, like he was as breakable as a china plate. It bothered Robin, but he ignored it and continued working. If he said something it could risk his newfound trust with Slade, and trust was Robin's greatest weapon against the man.

Slade watched as Robin added more weight onto the lifting bat and continued to work his arms. The boy was learning, it wouldn't be long before Slade would try to reintroduce him to guns. Under his mask, he frowned. Although Robin had been doing well training under him, he did not know if the young acrobat was ready to use the deadly weapon yet. He seemed to share Batman's hatred of firearms.

The boy wanted to spar with him to show off his new skills, but Slade was reluctant. He couldn't risk another accident. When Dick had been lying there, he hadn't seen him as himself. It was an odd statement, but it was true. Slade had seen a boy with light hair and pale skin collapsed on the ground with his mouth slightly agape and his body so still that he could have been sleeping.

Slade had seen Grant.

The anniversary of his son's death wasn't far off and he was not sure how he would cope. It usually ended in a drunken phone call to his ex-wife, Adeline Kane, or as he called her, Addie. He often tried to forget, not of his dead nor his living son, but of the pain he felt over losing his family. In a way, Robin's parents' deaths had connected them, because Slade could relate to the boy.

His back exploded in pain that made him stumble forward several steps. His eye jumped to the bench press, which was no longer occupied. Turning on his heel, he faced Robin, who was standing before him with his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched, ready to strike again. With a yell, he leapt forward and aimed a punch at Slade's face, which was blocked by his arm.

It had not been an aggravated attack, Robin simply wanted to fight with another human being. Slade was actually quite proud of the way the boy had snuck up on him. He had always known that Robin was stealthy, but it took a lot to catch him off guard. It reminded Slade of the first time Robin had been his apprentice, of the many times he had unsuccessfully tried to attack him. He had come a long way since then.

"I think that's enough physical training for today," Slade said.

"You can't be serious."

"You've shown me you are capable of fighting." He paused. "And stealth."

He expected Robin to smile at the last comment, but instead he frowned. Moving to the metal bench in the middle of the room, he sat down and took a swig of water that sat waiting for him. His body ached, but in a good way. He was getting stronger. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he gazed up at Slade, who stood several feet away with his hands folded behind his back.

"What are you afraid of?"

Slade was taken aback by the boy's question. "What?"

"Are you afraid of hurting me again? Is that why you won't spar with me?"

"You've been learning new techniques."

"Robots will only get me so far." He motioned to the timer on the wall. "As you can see, it doesn't take me long to figure out their thought processes. Humans are different, their thoughts are continuously changing. They're not programed to do one specific thing."

"I understand," Slade said, slightly irritated. "But until your first mission, robots are the only thing you can take down."

"You still haven't answered my question," Robin pointed out. "I'm not a leaf, I'm not brittle and I won't crumble into a thousand pieces. Slade, I need a challenge."

"Richard," he warned, his voice rising.

A red flag shot into the air. Robin took a drink of water to stop himself from continuing. Slade had not called him Apprentice, or even Dick. No, he had called him Richard, which was never a good sign. He was walking a fine line and he had to proceed with caution or he could tip over the edge and end up where he began. If that happened, he could kiss his chances of escaping goodbye.

"It's just-" he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. Whatever he said next could make or break him. "I feel like I'm stuck in a loop. Like I've been doing the same thing over and over. I take one bot down, you replace it with another. I guess it's just one of those things you need, actual hands on experience to learn from."

"You're no use to me dead," Slade said.

Robin looked up. "What happened was my fault. I got distracted. Unfortunately, accidents happen and when they do we need to pick ourselves up off the ground and continue with our lives."

Slade shook his head. Robin didn't understand. Through the three long slashes in the front of the boy's shirt, Slade could see the yellowing bruise on his chest. Closing his eye, he gathered his thoughts. Robin was right, the accident had been his fault, but only partially. Slade had been a big factor in it too. Technically Wintergreen was also to blame. In the end he was tired of playing the blame game. They all shared it. Yet he could not get the image of Grant's still form out of his mind.

"Show me what you've learned," he stated simply.

Robin's mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide. Quickly he scrambled out of his seat and ran to the sparring mats, where he stood with his back straight and his hands at his sides. He watched as Slade slowly made his way to his own spot. They both bowed their heads slightly before taking defensive position and getting themselves ready to fight.

Much to Robin's surprise, Slade made the first move. He rushed towards him with a fist aimed at his face. The Boy Wonder propelled himself in the air, narrowly missing Slade's fist. He planted a hand on the man's back and flipped so that he was behind him. He wasted no time advancing forward, but instead of attacking Slade from behind he slid between his legs, jumped to his feet, and landed a blow to Slade's chest.

Slade grabbed Robin by the back of his shirt and tossed him over his shoulder like a rag doll. In midair, the boy smirked and kicked the man in the back of the head. He landed several feet away. Standing up, he hardly had time to catch his breath as Slade came at him yet again. He ducked the punch that came flying towards him, but he was completely unprepared to have his feet swept out from under him.

Robin hit the ground with a thud. He managed to roll away before Slade's foot came down right where his head had been. He flipped to his feet and faced the man. Gritting his teeth, he looked over his options. Fighting the robot had shown him that he kicked entirely too much. So Slade would be expecting him to use his new skills. What if he were to tap into his old?

He pushed off the ground and soared towards Slade. Lashing out with his right foot, he clipped him under the chin. Slade's head violently snapped backwards and his mask flew across the room, hit the wall and clattered to the ground. Robin stood wide-eyed and paralyzed as he stared at Slade's hard face. His lungs froze, he could not breathe, but at the same time he felt like he was going to vomit.

"I'm so sorry," Robin stuttered. "I didn't mean-"

Slade held up a hand and Robin fell silent. He slowly walked to the place where his mask had fallen. Placing it back on his face, he said, "Accidents happen, and when they do we must pick ourselves up and continue down our paths."


	19. The Knife and the Hounds

_I know, I know, I'm a terrible person for not updating. WARNING: This chapter is going to get a bit graphic, as in there will be blood and gore involved._

* * *

Robin's breath hitched in his throat and he quickly slammed shut his hardcover copy of _Falling_. He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent himself from crying, but his face grew fifty shades lighter. In the book, two of the main characters were rock climbing and one of the characters had cut the other's ropes.

Opening his eyes, he quietly crawled off the couch and made his way into the kitchen, ignoring Wintergreen, who sat at the table reading the newspaper. Turning on the faucet, he splashed the freezing water on his face and leaned over the counter. He rubbed his eyes and placed his head in his hands. Why had the author written something so terrible? He had less than fifteen pages left to read, but then _that _had happened.

He jumped when Slade's familiar hand rested upon his shoulder. It was gentle, reassuring. In that moment he wanted to thrash around, scream, yell, fall into his old ways, but that would get him nowhere. Robin faced Slade to see his single gray eye glistened in concern. Turning his face away, Robin found the ground much more interesting.

"Are you alright, Apprentice?"

Robin shrugged off his hand and nodded, even though he was far from alright. By that point, Wintergreen had pried his eyes from the article he had been reading and was gazing worriedly at the two of them. Out of the corner of his eyes, Robin saw Slade wave his hand dismissively at Wintergreen. When he turned to face the boy again, he was trying with all his might to smile.

"Dick?"

"I'm fine," he said shortly.

"Are you sick?"

"You don't look well," Wintergreen added.

"I'm fine," he repeated. For a second, he hesitated. "Can I go outside? It's a nice day, I promise I won't go past the trees."

Slade was quite surprised by the boy's request. Normally Robin was too timid or scared to ask for anything other than second helpings at dinner. Slade believed that he had finally learned to respect him. Wintergreen's eyes seemed to burn holes straight through him. Letting Robin go outside on his own was an act of trust on both of their parts. Slade had to trust Robin not to run.

With a sigh, Slade tossed Robin his key card. The boy handled it as if it were C-4, he was unsure. For a moment he stared at it dumbfounded, and then his mouth twisted into a huge grin that stretched ear to ear. Slade watched as Robin ran into the living room, his smile never wavering. He reappeared a few seconds later with his book clutched in his hand. Slade had never seen the boy so giddy, it was odd.

Robin's hands shook with excitement as he fumbled with the key card. Sliding it through the slot, he yanked open the door and sucked in a lungful of fresh spring air. The breeze was warm, the sunlight felt good against his skin. Little yellow dandelions were popping up out of the ground like jack-in-the-boxes. They painted the world with color and made his day a little brighter.

_Soon, _he thought, _Soon I will be out of here. _

Walking down the stairs, he made his way through the lush green yard towards the willow tree that stood like a beacon in the middle. Setting his book at the base of the tree, Robin gingerly reached up and closed his fist around a rather thick branch. Hoisting himself up, he began to climb, careful to stay clear of the flimsy branches. It felt nice to have his feet off the ground, almost natural. At that moment he felt at home.

He climbed until his feet could no longer find any footholds. Resting his back against the truck of the tree, he let his feet dangle over the side of the branch. Through the drooping branches of the tree, he could see white fluffy clouds rolling through the sapphire sky like Jet Puffed Marshmallows. Robin remembered the days he and Starfire would lay on the tower roof and waste the whole day just staring at the sky.

After a while, Robin realized how high up he really was. He was camouflaged by the leafy branches and the ground seemed to be a million miles away. He could not see the yellow bricks of the house, which meant that Slade could not see him. Slipping both of his legs over the side of the branch, he began freefalling to the earth. At the last second he grabbed a small branch, flipped over and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

Reaching his hands toward the sky as if he were going to grab the sun, he bent over backwards and did a kick over. He sprung forward on his hands and flipped twice in the air before hitting the ground and somersaulted to his feet. It felt great to be in the open air, the sun beating upon his flesh, warming his body. He felt like a kid again, showing off his acrobatic skills to anyone who doubted him.

Taking a running start, Robin started into a volley of cartwheels that transitioned into a series of complicated flips. Finishing off his stunt, he jogged back to the tree and settled himself against the hard bark. Closing his eyes, he tried to melt against the tree like a chameleon. He wanted to sit there forever and never have to worry again. But the fantasy was short-lived.

Tears sprung to his eyes when a burst of pain shot through his right shoulder. Robin could feel blood soaking into his shirt, causing it to stick to his body. He clawed at the muzzle of the dog that had sunken its teeth in his shoulder. It gave a feral growl, but kept its jaw locked. The other dog seized his jeans and began shaking its head viciously. He tried to kick it, but that only made it angrier.

The dog lunged at him and in the sunlight, he saw a glitter of gold. Around the dog's neck was a tag that read "Maxx". Robin idly wondered if the dog had come with the name or if Slade or Wintergreen had cared enough to name it. But his thoughts were cut short when Maxx forced him onto his back and snapped at his face.

The other dog had let go of his shoulder and was standing over him. It was a female named Roxy. Maxx's teeth found their way into the meaty flesh of Robin's arm. He gave a small grunt of pain before kicking with all his might at the dog's hind legs. Maxx yelped and backed off, but Roxy was on full attack mode. A blood curdling scream pierced the air as bits of blood, flesh, and hair were seized in the dog's mighty jaws.

Blood slipped over the sides of his face as the wound on his head began to bleed. Somehow managing to climb to his feet, Robin made a break for the house, but Maxx was on him in an instant. The dog knocked him forward when it jumped on him. Blood squirted from his nose when his face smashed into the ground. Another scream escaped his throat when Maxx latched onto the skin just above his shoulder blade. Roxy began mauling his right leg.

If he were to move, he risked damaging his body further. So he wrapped his arms around his head and held still. Warm sticky blood spilled into his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. His white t-shirt had turned velvet red and his jeans had large tears in them. After a few minutes the dogs let go. He could feel their cold wet noses sniffing him.

"Dick!"

Instinctively his head snapped up. Slade was standing on the patio, observing the scene before him. And then everything happened at once. The dogs realized that he was not actually dead and continued their attack. A glint of silver in the sky caught his attention. Slade had thrown him a weapon.

Grabbing the object by the handle, he turned and swung absentmindedly at the dogs. His injuries no longer hurt, a dull numbness had settled over him. He was running on pure adrenaline. Robin was hardly aware of anything going on around him. He didn't notice the yelps or whines. It was like his brain had shut off, but his muscles were still moving. The next thing he was aware of was Slade kneeling over him, gripping his uninjured shoulder. His eye revealed panic, Robin swore he almost looked scared.

"Richard…Richard, look at me. Are you okay?"

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Slade had called him Richard. He tried to scootch away, but his arm gave a painful throb and he cried out. Everything was covered in a misty haze, but he could clearly see blood. He was drenched in it from head to toe, his hair was matted and his clothes stuck to his shaking form. Once again, he tried to crawl away from Slade, but his body failed him.

"Am I in trouble?" he croaked.

"No," Slade said firmly. "Are you okay?

Robin was no longer paying any mind to Slade. His attention was focused on the steak knife clutched in his hand. The knife was covered in blood, strands of hair and pieces of meat stuck to the ridges. His stomach jumped to his throat. What had he done? Robin tried to roll over, but Slade held him firmly to the ground so he wouldn't hurt himself. He began to struggle, trying to worm his way out of the man's grip. Blind panic had set in. Robin scratched at Slade's arm that held him before falling limp and staring blankly at the sky overhead.

Sucking in a deep breath, Robin turned his head to the side. A strangled gasp escaped his throat almost as if his lungs were filled with fluid. Maxx and Roxy lay in crumpled heaps next to him. Maxx's throat and chest were sliced open, his beady black eyes stared at nothing and would remain that way until the end of time.

Roxy had been less fortunate. The knife had sliced her from chest downwards. Her intestines spilled out between the flaps of skin and spilled onto the lawn. Robin turned his face away from the morbid scene and vomited. The acid burned his esophagus as his stomach heaved. Swallowing the bile, he closed his eyes, curled into himself, and began to tremble.

"Dick," Slade said gently.

The boy did not respond. He merely stayed in the fetal position. Slade shook him, but Robin didn't acknowledge his presence. Slade watched as the boy's shoulders hunched forward and he began to sob. Unsure of what to do, he rested a hand on Robin's elbow.

Robin had shut himself off from the world. He had killed a living thing. No, not _a _living thing. _Two _living things. He had murdered dogs. There was no room to tell himself that their death had been quick. He had checked out while he had been slaughtering them so he didn't know the specific details. He honestly didn't want to know.

He was vaguely aware of being lifted off the ground and being cradled against a strong chest. His head rolled to the side but he didn't have the strength to move or insist to be let down. What seemed only like seconds later, he was gently set down in a bed that he assumed to be his own. His body throbbed and he gave and agonized moan. A hand ghosted through his hair and he found himself leaning into it.

"Morphine?"

"He needs it."

Robin could hear people speaking, but he didn't know to whom they belonged to. He wasn't even sure where he was anymore. He felt a small prick and a numbness radiated from it, soothing his aching body. The morphine spread quickly and before long he fell asleep.

Slade hovered in the doorway of Robin's room, watching Wintergreen patch up the boy. The old man's spider-like fingers gently pinched the two flaps of skin on the young acrobat's head together and examined the wound. It looked worse than it actually was, head wounds normally bled a lot. Luckily he would not need stitches. Washing out the bitts and scratches with a soapy rag, he began to scrub away the gore and grime.

"What happened?" Wintergreen demanded angrily as he worked.

"Dick was performing acrobatic stunts. The dogs must have thought he was trying to run, so they attacked."

"The dogs are no longer necessary," he said pointedly. "Get rid of them."

Slade sighed. "Already done."

"What?"

"I threw Dick a knife to defend himself." He paused. "I don't think he was aware of what he was doing. Will, Dick killed the dogs. _Both _of them."

Wintergreen's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "He wasn't ready for anything that extreme."

"I realized that too late. I didn't know he was going to do that," Slade said in defense.

"Do you have any idea what this could do to him?"

Raising his hands to rub his temples, Slade tried to block out Wintergreen. Yes, he knew what killing the dogs could do to Robin. It could shatter the boy's mind into a million pieces. He would be lost in oblivion forever. A frustrated growl escaped his mouth as he looked at the prone form of the boy lying on the bed.

Robin had made his first kill. But his sanity was hanging by a string, his catatonic state proved that. He hadn't been ready to kill, and he may have paid the ultimate price.

* * *

_I don't know if the dog attack was disturbing or not to you. It personally was to me, maybe because I was the one typing it. Anyway, I think the next chapter might be up soon, because the next chapter is more funny and lighthearted and there will be Justice League shenanigans, and those are always the most fun for me to type._

_I hope all of you have a happy Halloween!_


	20. Kim from Saigon

_Hello! I hope you guys like this chapter. There's Jade/Roy, drunk Ollie, and BAMF Dinah. Oh, and there's also a Battlestar Galactica reference (I'm sorry for making Charlie put in so many sci-fi references). This is one of my favorites chapters so far._

* * *

Jade tightened her grip around Roy's waist as they sped down the empty streets of Star City. Her hair whipped around like fire billowing in the wind. Pressing her face into the archer's back, she breathed in the scent of his leather jacket and let herself get lost in the moment. The roar of the motorcycle pounded in her ears, but it was a sweet melodic lullaby.

It had rained the first rain of spring that night. The pavement was wet and shone under the street light's yellow gleam. The motorbike's wheels kicked up water, little droplets splattered onto Jade's face. She pretended it was a gentle mist that had been summoned just for her and Roy, like in those sappy romantic comedies she hated.

The reality of it all was that no part of the situation was romantic. Roy was gripping the handlebars so tightly that his knuckles were white. His back was rigid and his face was set in a deep scowl. The motorcycle flew down the road at breakneck speed. Jade could faintly hear Roy grumbling to himself, but she couldn't make out what he was saying over the roar of the motorcycle.

Jade was just grateful that they were together. Roy almost hadn't let her come, but after some persuasion he reluctantly agreed. Jade was just making sure he stayed clean. As far as she could tell, he hadn't touched heroin since she had caught him trying to shoot up in the apartment. They had not spoken about Dick since he had been declared dead by the goth girl, whose name Jade did not care to learn, from the Titans. It was fine by her if Roy didn't want to talk, just as long as he stayed clean.

Unlike Roy, Kid Flash had kept contact with the Teen Titans. Or at least to her understanding he had. Jade remembered Roy mentioning that the speedster was staying with the founding Titans, but that didn't mean much to her. Anytime he brought up anything about heroes, she listened though because seldom did he bring up the topic for fear that he would release too much information. What had caught her attention in Kid Flash's story was the fact that he had gathered additional information about Deathstroke.

Jade remembered the phone call Roy had received. But mostly she remembered the yelling. From what she had gathered from the one side of the conversation was that Kid Flash stole the disc containing Robin's brutal beating from the Watchtower. Roy had been furious, but what tipped him over the edge was the fact that he had given the disc to the Titans. But doing so actually helped them. The Titans had identified Deathstroke as Slade, an adversary of theirs.

She honestly didn't know how the Titans had gone up against Deathstroke and lived to tell the tale. Perhaps the mercenary had adopted the identity of Slade to keep a close eyes on Robin before choosing him to become his apprentice. Jade couldn't understand why Deathstroke would waste his time on a group of whiny teenaged superheroes, just to get an unwilling apprentice. Sure, breaking the Boy Wonder would be a challenge and a great feat to pursue. But why not select an apprentice that would willingly stand by his side? Sighing, Jade shook the thoughts from her mind. It was not a good idea to try to get into Deathstroke's head.

The motorcycle jerked slightly, indicating that the brakes had been pressed. Ever so slowly, the vehicle rolled to a stop in an empty parking space on an abandoned street of Star City. The engine sputtered a bit before switching off. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The sound of car tires sloshing in the rain water could be heard the next street over. Other than the sounds of the night, the two were alone. Already the romantic scene began to build itself in Jade's overactive mind. It was like they were they only two people in the city, maybe even the whole world. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips lightly to Roy's neck, loving the way his steady pulse beat under them.

"Take me with you," she whispered.

"This is your drop off," Roy replied gruffly.

"I can help you."

"What do you expect me to tell Ollie? 'Hey, this is my girlfriend. By the way, she's an assassin for the League of Shadows."

Jade scowled before pressing her lips to his neck once again. Dismounting the motorcycle, she pulled open the side storage unit and removed her shoulder bag. Roy looked straight forward with a blank expression on his face, but his eyes were blazing. Running a hand through his short hair, Jade stepped in front of the bike and gave in a light peck on the cheek. His eyes slid to hers and his face softened slightly.

"You could go to Batman instead."

"I hate him more than Ollie right now."

Jade sighed. "If you need my help, call me. I'll be here."

Roy revved the engine and gave Jade a small smile before speeding away. The wind whipped through his hair and the misty air dampened his skin. He twisted the accelerator and shot down the street. He loved the speed, it made him feel alive. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, compelling him to go faster. There was something about being half dead that made him feel alive.

Before he knew it, Roy was parked in front of a large mansion. Bright lights illuminated it, making it pop out against the black sky. Climbing off the bike, he slowly approached the mansion. Touching the small of his back to make sure his bow was still concealed beneath his jacket, he strode forward with more confidence. When he reached the door, he was surprised to find it slightly ajar. Sliding his bow out, he knocked an arrow and proceeded with caution.

With his bow held in front of him, he wandered silently through the grand mansion. It was mostly empty, for Ollie had fired all the help and sold most of the priceless furniture. Things were going downhill quickly for Queen. He had lost most of his fortune in the last year, though he had told no one but Roy and Dinah. Ollie had started drinking heavily when the money had begun to run out. It was one of the reasons Roy left. He gripped his bow tighter and let his eyes sweep over the empty room before moving to the next.

Like a dog, his ears perked at the sound of glass shattering. The sound had come from beneath the floor boards, in the basement. Running into what used to be the kitchen, he ripped open the cellar door and thundered down the hand carved marble steps, not caring how loud he was. The bareness of the basement shocked him. He remembered it being a game room with a large flat screen TV, several leather couches, and a pool table, but now it was empty.

Shouldering open the only door in the basement, he slipped in. Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, Roy leaned against a wall and slid to the floor. Opening his eyes, he confirmed that his worst nightmare was playing out before his eyes. Ollie was slumped against the wall opposite of him. His golden hair was a mess and it looked like he had slept in his clothes. Ollie's eyes spun around the room before finally settling on Roy. A lopsided grin crossed his face and soft giggles bubbled out of his mouth.

"Well, hey buddy," he slurred. "Long time, no see."

"You're drunk," Roy stated.

"I've only had a few. You want a drink?"

"I'll pass," he replied shortly. "I had important information to relay to you but you are obviously in no state to comprehend it."

Roy crawled to his feet. Placing his bow back under his jacket, he made a move for the door. Turning his head slightly, he saw Ollie pop the cork out of a fresh bottle of finely aged wine. A growl rose in Roy's throat. He leapt at the older man. Ripping the bottle from his hands, he flung it against the wall where it shattered into a million pieces. Ollie looked at him in disbelief. Roy almost expected him to start crying. Patting the ground next to him, Ollie motioned for Roy to sit down, but the redheaded archer remained standing in the doorway.

"I have some secrets to tell you," Ollie confessed.

"I already know you're Green Arrow."

"No, not that." He looked around as if someone else were listening in. "Sometimes, I sit down to pee, but only when I'm really tired!"

Roy rolled his eyes. "Great to know."

"And one time, I laughed at a blind guy eating spaghetti."

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, when I was in Scouts, I had to share a sleeping bag with another kid." He paused. "I think his name was Tim McGee. Ya know, like Me and Bobby McGee."

"Ollie," Roy snapped.

"This one time, at band camp-"

Roy raised his hands. "I don't need to hear this."

Slipping his cellphone from his pocket, he hit 5 on the speed dial and placed the phone to his ear. After several rings, a smooth female voice answered. Quickly, Roy explained his situation, then hung up. Ollie looked like he was ready to cry, and Roy actually felt sympathy for him. With a grimace, he knelt beside the drunken man and stared into his tear-filled eyes.

"What's wrong now?"

"It's my fault," Ollie sobbed. "I could have saved them."

"Who?"

"Dick and that other kid."

Anger swelled in the pit of Roy's stomach. "It _is _your fault. You were too drunk to do any good. You _are _too drunk to do any good. Boohoo, you lost your money. Being a hero isn't about having a ton of money, or partying, or getting drunk every night. It's about saving people and your failed to save Dick and Leroy."

"I'm selfish."

"You are," Roy agreed.

"I'm selfish because I'm glad Dick was taken instead of you."

Roy's breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't believe Ollie had said that. Sucking in a deep breath, he fought back the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes. Roy _wished _it had been him. He wanted to be the one who was possibly dead. Though they were both too young to die, Roy always knew he would do anything for his friends, even die, but Ollie was practically saying he was glad Dick was gone.

In the haze of Ollie's drunken mind, what he had said was a compliment. Though expressing himself wasn't easy, he was trying to show Roy how much he meant to him. Cracking open another bottle of wine, he took a swig and studied Roy. He was thinner than he remembered. The boy's hair had grown out quite a bit and large muscles were bulging under his skin. Roy was growing up. Ollie couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks like Niagra Falls. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he began to sob. The sobs eventually died down into light hiccups that bubbled in his chest and escaped his mouth. Where had all the time gone? Roy was no longer the little boy that Ollie had taken in. He was a young man, ready to leave the nest and start his own life.

The two were stock still. Roy was ready to grip Ollie by the throat and squeeze the life out of him. Ollie, on the other hand, wanted to hug Roy and never let go. A deep silence settled over the room, the only sound was the occasional hiccup from the blond archer. Finally, Ollie climbed to his feet. The wine bottle that had been settled in his lap fell to the floor and broke, spraying both archers with red wine that looked much like blood. Advancing towards Roy with open arms, he was surprised to find an arrow trained on his chest. Ollie opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then shut it.

"Clean?"

Both archers spun around to see a small Asian woman standing just outside of the doorway. She had long frizzy black hair that fell around her face. A pink sweater was worn over her flowered blouse, and she had on a silver pair of flats. Her sweet face was worn, but her hazel eyes shone with experience. She smiled warmly at them before sweeping into the room and beginning to pick up the shards of broken glass.

Roy stared blankly at her for a moment. Her face was too perfect. Locking eyes with her, Roy gasped. He'd know those eyes anywhere. Jade winked at him and continued with the task at hand. She looked older with the makeup and clothes. Ollie was practically undressing her with his eyes. Roy wanted to smack him.

"Who the hell are you?" Ollie slurred.

"Kim, from Saigon," Jade said. "Cleaning lady."

"Don't have no help."

"I work for free."

"When did I hire you?"

"Last week."

Narrowing his eyes, Roy glared at Jade. He had specifically told her to stay away. He did not want the two parts of his life to collide. But there Jade was, cleaning up Ollie's mess. She must have been watching them. When things went south, she had decided to intervene. Feeling a great rush of love towards Jade, Roy let his bow clatter to the ground. He wanted to take her into his arms and melt into her. Having a girlfriend who cared made his miserable life worthwhile, it gave him a purpose.

The only thing that mattered to Roy, other than Jade, was Dick and Wally. Currently, he had failed to protect the younger of the two, he wasn't even sure if Dick was alive. He felt like he had failed him by not being there. Turning to face Ollie, he found that the man had already cracked open another bottle of booze and had downed half of it. With a growl, Roy kicked it out of his hands and it shattered against the far wall, causing Jade to jump slightly. Instead of crying, this time Ollie's face contorted in rage. He rushed at Roy, but was stopped by Jade, effortlessly sweeping his feet out from under him.

Ollie landed on his back, all the air in his body had been expelled from his lungs. The ceiling danced before his eyes and a bass drum beat in his head. Closing his eyes, Ollie groaned. It felt like he had been hit by a two ton truck. That girl had to be on _something_. It was hard to catch the Green Arrow off guard, but it didn't help any that he was drunk. He was just off his game, Ollie reasoned. Nothing a good hot bath couldn't fix.

Gingerly stepping over Ollie's still form, Jade moved to Roy's side. His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her body to his. Brushing his lips briefly against Jade's, Roy back off. He was completely unprepared for her to grab his face between her delicate hands. Their lips slammed together in a hard kiss. Jade's fingers ran through Roy's hair and his hands rubbed her back. Pressing her body against Roy's, Jade broke the kiss and panted for air. He leaned in for another kiss, but she refused.

"Has he ever hurt you?" she asked.

"No," Roy said. "He normally just yells."

"Roy, Ollie?" called a voice from upstairs. "Where are you?"

"Who-"

"I called Ollie's girlfriend," Roy stated. "Down here, Dinah!"

Pressing her lips against Roy's once more, Jade disappeared. It was like she had evaporated into thin air, she was just gone. The only other people Roy knew that could do that were Batman and Robin. Hearing the click of heels coming down the stairs, Roy stepped out of the room and greeted Dinah. She wore a simple red dress that hugged her body and showed off her flawless curves. Though she was already tall, she wore a pair of elegant black high heels. Her golden hair was lightly curled and she wore no makeup, for it would take away from her natural beauty.

Wordlessly leading Dinah into the wine cellar, Roy gestured to Ollie, who by that point had gotten up and was searching for a new bottle of wine. Pursing her lips, Dinah glared at Ollie's back. Roy was beginning to think calling Dinah hadn't been the best choice. He didn't want Ollie to get the snot kicked out of him, as entertaining as it would be. Briskly crossing the room, Dinah turned Ollie to face her. The archer promptly fell to the ground and began to crawl away.

"Cylon!" he screeched. "It's Number Six! Roy, get her away from me!"

Dinah grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. "Ollie, this is not Battlestar Galactica. We are not on Caprica. We are on Earth."

"They found Earth?!"

Dinah swiftly smacked Ollie on the back of the head. A short gasp escaped his throat and he rubbed the spot she had hit. Roy couldn't help but laugh at them, not because Dinah had hit Ollie, but because they were both closet sci-fi geeks. Pulling Ollie to his feet, Dinah glared at him with an intensity that could beat the Batman's glare.

"I left a dinner at my mother's house to come here," she said angrily.

"Your mom's a bitch."

"I'm aware," Dinah stated with a frown. "Why are you drinking?"

"Something to do," Ollie snarled. "It's not like I'm going broke. Who am I kidding? I've gone broke!"

The three of them fell silent. Ollie's loss of money was a touchy subject that they did not like to discuss. It wasn't that they wouldn't like him without the money, it was just the fact that at the mention of money the archer would become depressed. Ollie was under the impression that no one would like him if he was no longer rich, so he didn't talk about it, as if that would stop him from going broke.

Ollie's eyes scanned the room and his mouth turned downwards in a frown. Everything was hazed over as if a thick mist had settled in the wine cellar. He could clearly see Dinah, but Roy looked fuzzy because he was farther away. Furrowing his brow, he swayed on his feet and leaned on Dinah for support. Laughter bubbled out of his mouth, but he found nothing funny.

"Where is she?"

"Who?" Dinah asked.

"My cleaning lady."

"What?"

Ollie was getting annoyed. "Kim from Saigon, my cleaning lady. She was here a few minutes ago."

Dinah shot the redheaded archer a questioning look and Roy felt his blood run cold. What was he supposed to say? His eyes darted around the room. There was absolutely no evidence to prove that Jade had been there. Finally his eyes rested on Ollie. He let them grow wider and put on a concerned face. Not that he had any concern for the man. Ollie had dug the hole himself, he could climb out on his own.

"There was no one here, Ollie," Roy said slowly.

"You saw her! That Asian chick, said her name was Kim."

"You're just drunk off your ass."

"Language!" Ollie and Dinah snapped in unison.

Roy raised his hands. "Look, I didn't want to come here to begin with."

"Why are you here?" Dinah asked.

"I have information on Deathstroke for Batman," he said. "Ollie is my only way into the Watchtower."

"Just tell me," Ollie slurred. "I'll remember."

"I was under the impression you no longer cared about Dick," he snarled.

"Roy-"

"Go to hell!" Roy screamed, before storming out and leaving a shocked Ollie and Dinah in his wake.

* * *

_It is ridiculous how much I love this chapter. Maybe it's because I ship Jade/Roy and Ollie/Dinah with the burning intensity of a thousand suns, or maybe it's just because there are drunk shenanigans (Can you tell I really love the word 'shenanigans'?). And speaking of Green Arrow, have any of you guys been watching Arrow? Me and Charlie personally think it's pretty good, deviations from DCU canon aside. If you're a fan of Green Arrow and ridiculously attractive people, I highly recommend it._


	21. No More Secrets

His body shook, although he was not cold, he just felt numb. Indifferent. Rolling onto his side, Robin sunk further into the mattress and pulled his covers tighter around himself. It seemed impossible to get comfortable. His sheets were scratchy and crusty. His clothes were stiff and rubbed him the wrong way, literally. His matted black hair clung to his equally uncomfortable pillow. It took him a moment to realize his skin was slick with a cold sweat and his heart was racing a mile a minute, like it was trying to escape his chest.

His mind and body were at war. His body wanted sleep, but his mind insisted that his body move. Ever so slowly, Robin pulled the covers off and crawled out of his bed. Much to his surprise, his bedroom door was wide open. Very little light trickled in, but it was enough for him to make out where everything was. The little light coated everything in a grey haze, but he was able to see different shades.

As he crawled out, the delicate scabs that had begun to form cracked open and blood seeped out, smearing on his sheets. Once he had found his way out, he took notice of the way his blood looked black against the grey of his bed. Robin's breath hitched in his throat, the whole middle of his bed was painted black as if it were some morbid drawing. Tears sprung to his eyes. What had he done? Clutching his black locks, Robin pulled until his roots protested. He could feel blood gluing his strands of hair together. It was dried and he imagined it was an ugly shade of brown. The whole front of his shirt was stained black, as were his jeans.

Pulling his hair to the point where he thought it might rip from his scalp, he began to hyperventilate. His lungs seemed like they couldn't get enough air. It was a wonder his knees didn't buckle. The image of a dead dog with its vital organs spilled onto the ground popped into his mind. He could not forget the beady black eyes that would never see again. He had _killed _two living creatures.

Robin felt bile rise in his throat and coat his dry mouth. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he rushed out of the room, up the hallway, and into the dark bathroom. Leaning over the toilet, he vomited until his stomach felt like it had been stabbed. Easing himself onto the floor, he leaned against the wall and moaned. He felt like he had swallowed a bottle of bleach. His stomach began heaving again, but nothing would come up. Spitting into the porcelain throne, he flushed and unsteadily got to his feet.

Exiting the bathroom, Robin walked past Wintergreen's room and entered his own. Not bothering to turn on the light, he walked back to his bed. Robin clutched his queasy stomach and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't throw up again, he was on a mission. Grabbing the blanket's and sheets in his fists, he yanked them off the mattress in one swift motion and deposited them on the floor like dirty laundry. Seizing his pillows, he threw them across the room. There was no hope for them, they were ruined. He idly wondered if Slade would let him burn them.

He nearly burst into tears when he saw the blood had soaked through into the mattress. Maybe there was a scrub brush under the bathroom sink. With a good amount of elbow grease it would come out. Or at least he hoped it would. Robin was unable to stand the thought of sleeping in the bed with the dog's blood on it. He didn't want to be constantly reminded of what he had done. Moving to his dresser, he pulled out a pair of neatly folded clothes.

Once again leaving his room, Robin made his way to the bathroom. Pausing outside of Wintergreen's door, he heard the man's soft snores. Moving farther down the hall, he stopped in front of Slade's door, but heard nothing coming from within. It was possible the man was in the basement, or maybe he just up and left for the night. Robin honestly didn't care. His only goal at the moment was to scrub away the blood, which in turn would rid him of the terrible memories of the terrible thing he had done.

When he entered the bathroom, he shut the door behind him and neglected to turn on the light. A light that only came on in the dark was plugged in beside the mirror. It radiated little light and gave everything a ghostly look. Setting his clothes on the counter, he slipped off his shirt and was about to put the clean one on when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His hair was matted in places and he had dark circles under his eyes. The puncture wounds were all too visible all over his body. He had scratches everywhere, and he was covered in dry blood. To say the least, he looked like the walking dead. All that was missing was blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth and he could have been a zombie.

Tugging the rest of his clothes off, Robin threw them into the waste basket. Peeling his mask off, he placed it on the counter, but he didn't dare gaze into the mirror again, for he was afraid of what he might see in his eyes. He slowly stepped into the shower and turned on the water as hot as it could go. Grabbing a bar of soap, he began scrubbing every inch of his skin. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, only quitting when he was sure his flesh would split open and bleed. Lathering shampoo into his hair, he hissed through his teeth. Blood dripped to the shower floor, swirled a bit, and then went down the drain.

Gingerly touching his head, he pulled his hand back and examined the blood on the tips of his fingers. Tracing his finger along the cut, he was surprised at how small it really was. He could have sworn he'd need stitches, but at further inspection none of the wounds were that bad. Dick stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out, and then he stood in the cold for a while. It was as if the water could wash away what he had done. He felt dirty, no matter how clean he was.

Turning off the water, Dick stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel off the rack. He quickly dried off and began to dress himself. Slipping on a black t-shirt and a dark pair of baggy jeans, he wondered when Slade was ever going to guess his size right. Dick kneeled before the sink and pulled open the cabinet door. Rummaging through toiletries and unused bottles of shampoo, he produced a scrub brush, a washcloth, and a fresh bar of soap. Soaking the soap in the sink, Dick wrapped it in the washcloth. Grabbing his mask in his free hand, he was once again on his way to his room.

Dick was halfway down the hall when he heard a strange noise. Instantly his muscles tightened and he was ready to attack or be attacked. He held perfectly still for a few moments before realizing there was no immediate danger. Dropping his fighting stance, Dick moved to the end of the hall. Peering into the kitchen, he had to blink several times to confirm what he saw. Slapping on his mask, Robin stepped into the shadows of the hallway and contemplated what to do next.

Without much thought, he stepped into the kitchen. The curtains were pulled to the side and moonlight spilled through the sliding glass door and illuminated the kitchen and dining area. Slade stood with his back to Robin. He was leaning over the counter, but what made the scene odd was the fact that Slade was not wearing his mask. A cell phone was pressed to the man's ear, a real, honest to God, cell phone. Robin was giddy for a moment. The phone could be traced, and he could be found.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," he heard Slade say. The man's shoulders tightened. "I need to go."

Robin almost ran when Slade turned around, but some invisible force kept his feet rooted to the spot. He felt like he should have looked away from Slade's face, but he could not. Maybe it was the sympathetic look he gave him. Robin pretended not to see it. He felt his hope dissipate when Slade sat the cell phone down. The thing was older than dirt, it was highly unlikely that it could be traced. But he still held onto a little hope.

Slade motioned to Wintergreen's spot at the table. Robin sat down and folded his hands in front of himself. It was a habit he had formed over the last couple weeks to prove to Slade he was not going to pull anything. The man sat down across from him in his usual seat. He also folded his hands in front of him, but Robin doubted it was to show he wasn't going to make a move. Slade could jump over the table and pin him faster than the Flash could sneeze.

"Are you angry with me?"

Robin was taken aback. "Why would I be angry?"

"I threw you the knife."

His face darkened. "I should have been able to fight them off."

Slade sighed. "Dick, it was you or them."

Robin was done discussing the subject, Slade could tell by the expression that was written clearly across his face. Above the stove, in green numbers, 3:34 AM flashed. The moonlight made Robin look even paler than he really was, but the darkness concealed the fact that he was shaking, just as his mask hid the tears that welled in his eyes. He wanted to wipe them away, but that would expose the fact that he was crying. So he stayed still and played with his thumbs.

Lifting his eyes to look at Slade's face, he became confused. Slade did not look the same as the last time he had seen him without his mask. The man's hair was no longer white-blond, it now had a salt and pepper look to it. His face was worn, probably from all the unspeakable things he had seen and done. Slade waited patiently for Robin to begin speaking again. The man's patience infuriated Robin.

Instead of stomping around like a two-year old and throwing a temper tantrum, Robin bottled up his feelings and tossed them out the window. Figuratively, of course. He blinked the tears from his eyes and let them soak into the fabric of his mask. Gritting his teeth, he mentally punched himself for being so weak and exposed. Four months earlier, he would have taken his anger out on Slade. But he had changed, if it was for the better he could not tell.

He forced himself to stop being an angsty teenager and to deal with life. Batman would have told him to get over it. So why should he expect anything less from Slade? Robin felt his mouth twitch upward in a smirk, but he kept his eyes focused on his intertwined hands, unwilling to look Slade in the eye.

"Did you go gray after all that time with me?" Robin asked jokingly.

"You really believe that I'd show you my true identity?"

"Wearing a blond wig won't do much for you."

Slade raised an eyebrow. "Just as you wearing a mask will protect your identity from me?"

"Touché."

Slowly unlacing his fingers, Robin reached up and began to peel off his mask. He crumbled the piece of fabric in his hands and shot it into the garbage can. A small, almost hysterical, laugh bubbled out of his mouth. He had never thought that Slade would do normal things, such as taking out the garbage. Dick had always figured the man had spent all his free time plotting how to make his life miserable.

"It's stupid that I wear it," he said. "You know my identity anyway."

Dick wanted to cry, but he couldn't find it in himself to. What identity? He wasn't Robin anymore. Robin had probably died in the crashed taxi, back in December. But why did he pretend? To protect himself? To hold onto his old identity? He didn't even know, but it was stupid, and he had to stop acting like a child. Finally Dick raised his eyes to look at Slade. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he turned to gaze at the moon, wondering who may be at the Watchtower.

Wonder Woman, Superman, Martian Manhunter, maybe even Batman. Were they searching tirelessly for him? Or were they on some top secret mission that was of the highest importance? It felt like his still beating heart had been ripped from his chest and was being beaten with crowbars. Were they even still looking for him, or was he a lost cause?

Dick clenched his fist so tight his nails dug into his palms and drew blood. Glaring at the moon as if everything that happened to him was its fault, he wiped his bloody hands on his jeans. So what if they weren't looking for him. He could save himself. Dick could not stop the rush of anger he felt towards the Justice League and himself. Maybe if he had trained the Titans harder he would have been out of there weeks ago. But mostly he was angry with the League. They were experienced, they should have found him.

"Why'd you pick me to be your apprentice?" Dick asked on a whim.

"Why do you think?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, there's nothing really special about me. Sure, I can do flips, and I guess I'm pretty smart. But other than that, I'm pretty average."

Slade shook his head. "You're very intelligent, I've seen you get out of some bad situations. Your first apprenticeship, for example. You are agile, and can move with whatever punch is thrown at you. You are exceptionally strong-"

"Strong? I couldn't even fight off two dogs without…" he trailed off, unable to finish. Swallowing the bile in his throat, he took up playing with his hands again.

Slade ignored his unfinished sentence. "I have seen you take out men twice your size. Not to mention you are the only non-superpowered member of your team, and you can take on all four members at once and win. You _are _strong."

Dick's heart fluttered at the mention of his team. He would give anything to see them, just one more time. He would give into Slade if it meant seeing his friends again. It was strange, but life with Slade wasn't all that bad. Once he had gotten through the beating phase things were almost normal. Scoffing, he rolled his eyes at himself. Life with his worst enemy, yeah, that was completely normal. But he still couldn't help but think that there were worse people than Slade out there.

When had his thoughts changed so drastically? Had it happened over time, or all in one rush? He didn't know, and he honestly didn't care to find out. What would the Titans think of his change of thoughts? Dick didn't ponder on the subject for very long because thinking of his friends made his heart shatter like broken glass. Sighing, he shoved his hands in his pockets, no longer caring to keep up appearances.

"How much longer?"

Slade was confused. "What do you mean?"

"When is my first-" he hesitated, "…mission? Last time, you started me off right away."

"Patience," was all that Slade said.

Resting his head in his hands, Dick closed his eyes. He was suddenly overcome with a skull splitting headache. He would have killed for some aspirin, but decided not to test Slade's limits by asking for some. Instead, he began to drift off to sleep right then and there, sitting at the table. His mind could no longer hold on to what was being said. It was like someone had flipped a switch and he had shut down.

"What's this?"

Dick jumped slightly when a warm hand rested on his shoulder. Peeling open his eyes, he gazed up at Slade, who was now standing behind him. When had he moved? Slade was pointing at the scrub brush, which Dick had honestly forgotten about. Picking up his heavy head, he took it in his hands and examined it as if he had never seen one before.

"It's a scrub brush," he said sleepily.

"You don't say," Slade remarked dryly. "Why do you have it?"

"To get the blood out of my mattress." Dick yawned. "I can't sleep with it there."

"Apprentice?"

"Hmmm…?"

"I asked you if you were alright."

Furrowing his brow, Dick sent Slade a confused look, only to be returned with a concerned expression. He didn't remember Slade asking if he was okay, but then again it didn't help that he was half asleep and had a heck of a headache. Rubbing his eyes, he stretched his stiff limbs and rested his head on the table. Slade squeezed his shoulder and brought him back to the present. It took him a moment to remember what they had been discussing.

"I'm tired," he groaned. "My head hurts."

What happened next was a complete blank to him. The next time he opened his eyes, he was alone in the living room, lying on the couch with a warm blue blanket draped over his small body. The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the window and cast upon his face. A cup of water and two aspirin were sitting on the coffee table. He took them and ease back into the couch and let himself drift off to sleep.


	22. Identities and Syrup

_*insert standard "I haven't updated in a week" apology here* I was actually going to update yesterday, but I started watching Fringe. Needless to say, I spent my day marathoning the entire first season. So to make up for it, have some more drunk Ollie._

* * *

Five months.

Five months his son had been missing. Five months and they had gathered little to no information on where he was, who he was with, and why. It infuriated him. Once he got his hands on Deathstroke the mercenary would wish he had killed him. He would make the Joker look sane. Deathstroke would be begging for him to throw him in jail by the time Bruce was done with him. No one messed with his son and got away with it.

Clark Kent crossed his arms over his chest and watched Bruce go about his business. They were in the Watchtower, hidden in a room where Bruce hoped no one would find him. Unfortunately, due to Superman's super hearing he had been found. The Man of Steel had taken it upon himself to supervise Batman's ongoing investigation, for he tended to overreact in situations with Robin involved, but he had every right to. Robin meant something to everyone in the Justice League, and they had all been devastated by his disappearance. Clark couldn't even begin to imagine the possibility of something bad happening to him.

Bruce was standing in front of a huge computer monitor. The letter Dick had sent him was blown up ten times its size on the screen. He was dressed in his Batman uniform, with his cowl down. His eyes were tired and had dark bags under them, almost as if he hadn't slept since Dick was taken. His dark hair was a mess and it seemed like he twitched at every little sound. Reading the letter for the millionth time, Bruce felt his heart crack a little more. It wouldn't be long before it shattered.

The letter contained no hidden messages, at least none that he could find. But he had found pancake syrup smeared on the paper. Much to his dismay, it was standard syrup, sold in every store in America. At least he knew Deathstroke kept Dick in the United States or Canada. Bruce knew from the letter that Dick was running out of time, but he wouldn't even consider the possibility that Dick was dead.

"You're not going to find anything that you haven't already found," Clark said.

"But I _have_ found something."

"What is it?"

"Dick signed the letter 'Robin'."

"So?"

Bruce leveled his voice as if he were speaking to a two-year old. "So, he was taken as Dick Grayson, Deathstroke knows our identities."

Clark's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

Bruce nodded. "He wouldn't send me a totally useless letter."

"It could be forged."

"Kid Flash managed to get the tags from the Titans' most recent Christmas presents, the penmanship matches."

Clark pressed his lips into a thin line. "I still don't approve of the way you threw those kids out. They have definitely proved that they are useful. They provided us with so much information on Deathstroke that it's unbelievable."

Staring at the computer screen with narrowed eyes, Bruce clenched his fists. Clark didn't need to remind him of what he already knew. Feeling his heart jump into his throat, Bruce had the sudden overwhelming feeling that he wanted to punch someone or something. Unclenching his hands, he minimized the letter and called up a file of information that they had on Deathstroke, which honestly wasn't much, and that made him even angrier. He didn't know how Alfred put up with him.

From the information the Titans had given them, they had gathered that Deathstroke also went by the name Slade. He was feared villain of Jump City, but Bruce couldn't figure out why a mercenary would waste his time on a group of superpowered teenagers. That is, until he learned of Robin's first kidnapping. Though the apprenticeship had been short lived, the Titans insisted Robin had been a different person when he returned.

Bruce couldn't even imagine what five months would do to the boy. There was not a single doubt in his mind that Deathstroke had taken Dick again to try to force him into yet another apprenticeship. The video provided enough evidence to prove that Deathstroke was a brutal man, and was not afraid to use physical force. As if the fact that he was a mercenary wasn't enough. The truth was, Bruce was scared. Yes, he, the great Batman, was terrified. He had no way of knowing if he'd ever see his son safe and sound again. And that scared him more than anything.

"Bruce," Clark said gently, "The children have been a bigger help that you'd like to admit. Not just the Titans, but Kid Flash and Speedy. Especially Speedy."

"I know," Bruce grunted.

The Man of Steel rolled his eyes. "Don't go all Batman on me, I care about Dick too. I understand what you are going through."

Clark had hit a nerve, but Bruce didn't let it show. There was no way for him to know what Bruce was going through. He hadn't had his son ripped from his hands. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't tried to make Dick quit being Robin, this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe if he had pushed harder. Either way, what was happening was all his fault, and he was the only person who could make thing right again. Him, and him alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by a red blur streaking into the room with a trail of red smeared behind him. The blur paused for a nanosecond before running out again. Pulling his cowl back into place, he shot Superman a strange look only to be returned with a shrug. Less than two seconds later, the blur returned. Flash flung Green Arrow onto the computer chair and ran to the other side of the room. The chair swiveled a bit before Ollie shot forward, grabbed a waste basket, and vomited into it.

Green Arrow grimaced at the foul taste in his mouth. More than anything he wanted a bottle of vodka to wash the vile taste away. His mind was clearing up, and he hated it. It was like a fog had lifted. Gripping the arms of the chair, he glared at the picture of Deathstroke on the screen. He had a killer headache, and the harsh lights in the room didn't help any. What really put a damper on his mood was the fact that Bruce was there. Good, old, _rich, _Bruce.

"I found him harassing Green Lantern in the rec room," Flash explained.

"His weakness is the color yellow!" Ollie yelled. "How lame is that? Plus, he stole my name!"

"Green Lantern has been around longer than you," Superman pointed out.

"Shut up!" Ollie growled. "Your weakness is a stone."

"An _alien _stone."

"Whatever, it's still a rock."

"He's drunk," the Flash said in an apologetic tone.

"Why, thank you, Captain Duh," Green Arrow said sarcastically.

"You're welcome, Lieutent Dumbass," Barry shot back.

Batman almost facepalmed, but he didn't because it would only make things worse. Shutting down the computer, he figured that he had accomplished all that he could for one day. When he got back to Gotham, he could dust for footprints. Turning to face Green Arrow, he found the archer glaring at him, but he brushed it off like a speck of dust. The man was dressed in his uniform, but the corner of his mask was peeling off, his gloves were missing, and Bruce was pretty sure his boots were on the wrong feet.

"How did you find us?" he asked the Flash.

Barry shrugged. "I can run through this place in two seconds, it's not hard to find people. But if you ask me to find the TV remote, you're out of luck."

"Why are you here, Ollie?" Superman asked.

"Roy gave me some info, information, intelligence," Ollie fumbled over his words. "Information on Deathstroke to pass along."

"He came and told us himself," Clark said. "Black Canary brought him."

"That bitch," Ollie murmured.

"What was that?"

All four men turned to see Dinah Lance standing in the doorway. Her thick red lips were turned downward and her face was set in a scowl. Ollie nearly peed himself when he saw her, he was definitely in deep shit. Leaping from the chair, he flung himself at Clark and latched onto the Man of Steel's leg like a small child. Everyone knew how much trouble Ollie was in. And quite frankly, none of them cared. So they kept their distance, afraid of Dinah's wrath.

"Why don't you tell Bruce what you said to me earlier," Dinah said. "He knows how to handle kids."

"Okay, Brucie," Ollie slurred. "Here's the deal. Roy is being an ungrateful, whiny bastard. I think it's a teen thing, but it's really pissing me off."

"Talk to him," Batman replied shortly.

"Maybe when he stops being such an-"

"Don't finish that sentence," Bruce warned.

Ollie nearly cowered away from Bruce's glare, but he didn't, and that was one of the many mistakes he made. If looks could kill, Green Arrow would have been six feet under. Bruce was getting angry at the way Ollie discarded Roy as if he was nothing more than trash. Roy was a great kid, an excellent hero, worthy of the Justice League. The kid wasn't given enough credit from his mentor, his father. Why couldn't Ollie see how amazing Roy really was?

_The same reason you couldn't see how great Dick was until you lost him, _he thought bitterly.

"Appreciate what you have."

Green Arrow stood up and placed his hands on his hips. Clark, seeing he was in the danger zone, joined Barry on the other side of the room and watched from the sidelines. Still standing in the door way, Dinah let a small smile grace her lips. She was glad that she had found someone to finally talk some sense into Ollie. The man was literally drinking his life away, and she was so worried about him. Dinah couldn't stand to see him like that, he wasn't the Ollie she knew.

Clenching his fists, Ollie glared straight back at Bruce. Who was he to tell him what he had? He had next to nothing! Unable to stand the thought of being lectured by Bruce, he turned on his heel and attempted to march out the door. Unfortunately, Dinah was in his way and her face was set in its "Don't screw with me, Queen" scowl. Which, to Ollie was pretty much her default facial expression. He could face either the bird or the bat, neither was very pleasant. Facing Batman, he made a grab for his bow, but it wasn't there. Growling slightly, he crossed his arms over his chest, not intending to listen to Bruce at all.

"Roy is a great kid," Bruce started. "You need to savor each moment with him. Don't spend all your time fighting with him, hold on and never let him go. You need Roy, and he needs you. Dick and I used to fight constantly. I drove him away, and now I may never get the chance to see him again, or apologize. So don't take Roy for granted."

Ollie leapt at Bruce, unable to contain his rage. No one had seen it coming, but Bruce was able to block the punch thrown at his face. Ollie wanted to beat his face in, to hear him beg for mercy. The rational part of his mind told him he was being stupid and reckless, but he ignored it. Truth be told, Bruce would have liked to throw a few good punches too, but he resisted. Everyone watched Ollie's drunken advance with slight amusement. He was practically tripping over his own feet. It looked like he was moving through a pool of Jell-O.

Throwing another lazy punch at Batman, Green Arrow found himself flat on his back. It was like Kim from Saigon all over again, that is if she even existed. Jumping to his feet, he flung himself at Batman. With a surprised gasp, he found Bruce's fist flying towards his face. There was nothing he could do about it at that point. Ollie was out before he hit the ground. Bruce was actually surprised the punch had knocked him out, he hadn't hit him _that _hard. It was possible he had passed out drunk.

Bruce turned to the others. "It's problems like this that interfere with my investigation."

Dinah almost laughed. "It won't be a problem after that hit."

* * *

_Drunk Ollie is my favorite. Also I realize I've gone over twenty chapters without thanking you guys for your awesome reviews. So, thank you for your awesome reviews, and please keep reviewing._


	23. Shots

The rain had finally stopped. Dick had thought it was going to last forty days and forty nights, although it had come close. The last month had been dreary, full of dark clouds and thunder storms. But Dick didn't mind. In fact, he welcomed it. He loved storms, loved when the rain beat down so hard that he couldn't hear his own thoughts. He loved the way lightning danced across the sky, painting pictures that burned into his retinas. The way the sky changed from sapphire blue to coal gray in a matter of minutes truly amazed him. He would never tire of watching storms as they rolled in.

Standing behind the kitchen sink, Dick willed the clouds to cry. Idly he wondered if Thunder and Lightning were in the grey clouds that hung above the house. If he were to run outside and scream at the sky, would they come down and save him? He almost laughed at how stupid the thought was. No one was coming to save him, he knew that. Placing the dishes he had been washing in the drying rack, he leaned forward and gazed out the window as a few drops of rain landed on the pane of glass and a small smile graced his face.

The last month had been filled with intense training and long lectures. Dick had learned how to rewire many things and convert them into small explosives. He was pretty sure he could make a spoon explode if he really tried. His limbs ached from how hard he had been working, but it reminded him of how far he had come. Dick's best time taking down one of Slade's robots was forty-three seconds. He could hold his own against Slade, but he was far from being able to beat him. Sometimes Dick thought Slade was proud of him. The look that he got in his single grey eye when Dick executed something perfectly was unexplainable.

Slade and Dick no longer wore their masks around each other. Neither one had anything to hide. Dick noticed that the way he and Slade got along made Wintergreen extremely happy, the man could not stop smiling. Personally Dick thought Wintergreen was proud of the way he and Slade respected each other like mature adults. Seldom did Dick feel the need to let his anger consume him, he had learned to channel his rage. Though he'd never admit it, Dick like being recognized for his skills, it made him feel good. He had never received much praise for his hard work.

Dick learned something he had never known before: when to quit. Though he hated to lose, he knew that sometimes he had to admit defeat with dignity. Often when they would spar, Dick would let Slade know when he had had enough. Most of the time Slade would let him off the hook, but sometimes the man would just ease up a little. The truth was Dick loved the electric thrill that surged through his body every time he perfected a move or cracked a safe. He loved the thrill of hand to hand combat. Maybe he was an adrenaline junkie.

"Apprentice."

Looking up, Dick saw Wintergreen and Slade standing at the table. A chair had been pulled out and Slade gestured to it. Without a second thought he crossed the room and sat down, not quite sure what was going on, but was obedient nonetheless. He had learned that if he did what he was asked when he was asked, life was a breeze. Sometimes he felt something inside him try to rebel, but he pushed it away and did what he was told. No harm would befall him if he listened.

Hearing a strange sound, he looked up to see Wintergreen coming at him with a needle. Instinctively he jumped from his chair and put as much distance between himself and the two men as possible. Pressing his body against the fridge and glaring at the syringe clutch in Wintergreen's hands, his eyes flicked to Slade. His heart beat wildly in his chest and his breath quickened. His blue irises grew as his pupils dilated to pinpricks. He felt like a caged animal raised for slaughter and his moment had finally come.

Confusion had swept through him like a strong wind. Was he in trouble? Dick tried to remember if he had done anything worthy of punishment, but he could not recall. Studying Slade's face for any signs of anger, he was surprised to find the man was just as confused as he was. Wintergreen looked from the syringe to Dick and back again. Gently setting the needle on the table, he slowly backed away. Feeling his panic lessen, Dick let his eyes wander back to Slade.

"Am I in trouble?" Dick managed to croak.

"No," Wintergreen said, looking to Slade for support.

"It's just a flu shot," Slade explained. "If you don't want to take it, you don't have to, but I would prefer if you did."

Ever so slowly, Dick peeled himself away from the fridge and began to walk towards the chair. His heart still pumped frantically in his chest, he was sure Slade could hear it. A million different escape plans flashed through his mind. He could run for his room and push his bed against the door, or maybe he could smash through the living room window. As he approached the chair, he never took his eyes off of the needle. Slade wouldn't do anything to seriously injure him. They had come too far. That thought made him relax slightly.

Sitting down in the chair, he let Wintergreen roll up the sleeve of his brown t-shirt and wipe a sanitary pad over his arm. The alcohol was cold against his bare skin and gooseflesh rose. Resisting the urge to shudder, he watched as Wintergreen checked the needle to make sure it worked. Dick didn't even flinch when the needle poked through his flesh and released whatever liquid it had inside of it. Pulling his sleeve back down, he looked down at his hands clasped in his lap and began fiddling with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry," Dick mumbled. "I'm just not a big fan of needles. I've been injected too many times."

"I understand," Slade said. "Go get ready, we're going to train."

Jumping out of his seat, Dick ran out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Unconsciously rubbing his arm where Wintergreen had given him the shot, he entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaving a crack of space so he didn't lock himself in. Grabbing his sneakers that sat at the foot of his bed, he shoved them onto his feet and laced them up. Moving to his dresser, he pulled out a navy blue sweatshirt and slipped it over his head. The hoodie seemed to swallow him and he had to fight against it to come up for air. It was like he was drowning. Once Dick managed to actually put the sweatshirt on without suffocating, he mentally made sure he had everything.

Slade provided Dick with his weapons, for he wasn't trusted to carry his own, even though he had gained enough trust to go outside on his own. Since the accident with the dogs, Dick hadn't used his new freedom. He was very reluctant to go outside, even with Slade. Wintergreen had tried to talk with him several times about what happened, but Dick refused. He didn't want to be reminded about what had happened, and he most definitely did not want to talk about it. Slade, on the other hand, let the subject fall dead. He did not constantly pester Dick about what he had done and he was very grateful.

His eyes swept over the room one last time before he exited, closing the door shut behind him. Walking down the hall he found Slade waiting for him in the kitchen. Wintergreen was nowhere to be seen. Slade wore a black sweater with a high neck that showed off his muscles well. In his hand was a metallic briefcase with a black handle. Dick's heart thudded in his chest, he had never seen the case before. He did not know what it contained. Calming himself down, Dick moved to Slade's side and waited.

Slade opened the sliding glass door with his key card and stepped out onto the patio. The chill in the air had come back when the thunderstorms had rolled in. The occasional raindrop would land on their heads and every once in a while the wind would pick up, chilling them to the bone. Dick kept his eyes cast at the ground. His feet moved automatically, so it took him a moment to realize he was moving towards the basement and Slade was not. The man was standing a few feet away, his shoulders sagged and his posture was relaxed. Dick imagined that if Slade's hands hadn't been occupied they would have been crossed behind his back. The corner of Slade's mouth was pulled upward as if by an invisible string.

Turning, Dick followed obediently. The ground was soft from all the rain. It made a gross squishing sound, like that of blood, as he walked through it. The mud smeared up the side of his sneakers and the insides became damp, soaking his socks. To say the least, whatever Slade had planned hadn't even begun and he was already miserable. Dick avoided looking at the weeping willow as they passed. Pushing the unwanted memories aside, he jogged to catch up to Slade. Idly he wondered where the man was taking him, but he knew not to ask. Patience, a lesson Slade was trying to teach him, a lesson that was his worst subject. Even more so than anger management.

"Patience," Slade had said. _"You need to be patient like water. The oceans have been there for a million years, and they will be there for a million more."_

Dick hated being patient. Curiosity was his old enemy, it snuck up on him at the most inconvenient times. He wanted to know where they were going, he wanted to know what was in the silver case, but he kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted was another lecture from Slade about patience or any other thing that mattered to him. Sure, Slade had taught him a lot of useful things, but Dick couldn't stand to sit through his lectures.

Without hesitation, Dick followed as Slade led him into the forest. The smell of earth filled his nostrils and twigs crunched under his feet as he walked across the moss covered forest floor. They were protected by the trees from the chilly winds that blew around them and rattled the green leaves that had budded from the tall trees that touched the sky. Slade walked silently in front of Dick, his feet failing to step on the leaves and branches. He never looked back to make sure the boy was following him. Instead he trusted him to following his wake, or maybe it was just the fact that the young acrobat was so clumsy in the unfamiliar terrain and could be heard. Dick suspected it was a little bit of both. He almost asked how Slade was so quiet, but he was unwilling to break the blissful silence that had settled over them.

They were walking away from the railroad tracks. Or at least Dick assumed they were, he wasn't really paying attention. Hoping to God that Slade knew the way back, they continued walking. After a while Dick began to get nervous. A deep wave of self-loathing crashed into him: he was so stupid! Why hadn't he paid more attention to where they were? Slade was probably testing him. He was probably going to take him deep into the woods, then leave him here. He was going to make Dick fend for himself and find his way out of the woods. Mentally slapping himself, Dick realized how stupid he sounded. Slade wasn't going to leave him. But just in case, he picked up his pace and made sure not to let Slade step out of his field of vision for more than a few seconds.

Estimating that they had hiked a good mile into the thick woods, Dick wondered when Slade was going to stop and explain. He was quite thirsty and he had already worked off his lunch. Nearly running into Slade when he stopped, Dick took the time to observe his surroundings. They were in a large clearing surrounded by a ring of trees with thick trunks and rough bark. The walk had been mostly flat, they had not climbed uphill. A wooden wall that stood about four feet up bent around the edge of the clearing. The wood was old and unfinished; it splintered in many places and was also rotting in some. Several stakes rose out of the wooded wall, higher than the wall itself. On them a red target was nailed, but the red was worn from sun exposure. Dick's heart raced. He knew what was inside of the silver case.

Slade placed the case on the ground. Kneeling in front of it as if he were its servant, he popped open its latches. Quietly dropping to his knees next to Slade, Dick folded his hands before him and watched the man with nervous eyes. Opening the case, Slade pulled out a small gray handgun and a clip. Much to Dick's surprised, he sat them in front of him and gestured for him to pick them up. Dick stared at them dumbfounded for a moment. He could feel mud seeping into the knees of his jeans, and the wind picked up for a moment, chilling him. The gun was different than that of the one he had used before; it was longer and square, while the one from before had been round and had a revolver. Hesitantly taking it in his hands, he was careful to point it away from himself and Slade. Looking up, he met Slade's eye and waited for instructions.

"Do you know what that is?"

"A gun." Dick mentally facepalmed; of course it was a gun!

"Do you know what _kind _of gun it is?"

"No," Dick admitted. "I don't know much about guns."

Slade nodded. "As I expected. This model is a Glock 18; it is duel action and has an 18 round clip." Seeing Dick's confused expression, he continued. "Duel action is when you can either use the hammer and then pull the trigger, or just pull the trigger. Now put the clip in."

Dick's heart nearly stopped. "What?"

"Put the clip in," Slade repeated.

Watching as Slade climbed to his feet, Dick hesitantly took the clip in his free hand and stood up. Shooting Slade an unsure look, he clicked the clip into place and held the gun away from his body. Not only was the gun larger than the first one he had used, it was also heavier. He didn't like the weight of it in his hand, but he held it steady. Examining it, he found that it looked very much like the gun Jim Gordon carried. Once again he looked to Slade for further instruction.

"When you are ready to shoot, pull back the top and click the safety off," Slade said. "I recommend just pulling the trigger; it is much faster. And remember to put the safety back on. The gun will be in a holster, and I don't want you shooting your foot off."

Dick smiled a little bit before following Slade's instructions. Carefully he clicked off the safety, pulled back the top of the gun and raised his arms. Lifting the weapon so that the iron sights matched up with the targets, he released a breath of air and pulled the trigger back slowly. After the gun went off, his ears rung for a moment. Peering curiously at the target, he saw no marks. Frustration built up inside of him. How could he throw a boomerang with deadly accuracy, yet not be able to fire a gun? Aiming again, Dick pulled the trigger. This time he was less startled by the sound, though he still missed. Behind him he heard Slade laugh.

"That could have gone better," Slade laughed. "You need to relax. Stand with your feet shoulder width apart and turn your body slightly, like you're throwing a knife.

Doing as Slade said, Dick stood sideways and relaxed his shoulders. He focused so that the sights were directly in the middle of the target. After holding his stance for a little while he pulled back on the trigger. This time he was unfazed by the sound. Clicking the safety back on, he lowered the gun to his side and squinted at the target. He could see a bullet hole close to the center. He wanted to jump for joy because he actually got it, but he stayed still and looked to Slade, who nodded in approval and told him to do it again.

He once again clicked off the safety, but this time he did not hesitate to fire. Shooting three quick rounds, he found them all to be grouped in the center. Dick counted how many bullets he had used. There were eighteen bullets in one clip. He had used six, so he had twelve left. Slade said some words of praise and Dick smiled a little bit, but he quickly scolded himself and wiped the smile clean off his face. He didn't need Slade's approval; the only opinion that mattered was his own. But still he couldn't help the joy of being appreciated flutter in his stomach.

Watching as Slade removed two circular objects from the silver case, Dick noted that they were touching down on all bases that day. They were flying discs; Slade wanted him to shoot them out of the air. Lifting his arms, Dick nodded at Slade, who began throwing the discs in the air. He fired a few blind shots that came nowhere near hitting the discs, before he discovered the trick. When he had to knock something out of the air with his bird-a-rangs he normally had to throw them a few feet ahead of the object's path. But guns were much faster than bird-a-rangs; he only had to shoot an inch or two in front of the discs to hit them.

When he would shoot a disc it would shatter into a million pieces and sprinkle to the ground like a firework. He shot until his gun made a clicking sound, then he watched the disc that had been soaring through the air drop to the ground and break in two. Putting the safety on, he walked to Slade and placed the gun in his hands. Dick was actually surprised when Slade put the weapon back into its case and produced two retractable bo-staffs. Tossing one to Dick, Slade assumed the fighting stance, while the boy stared bewildered at the metal pole in his hands as if it were made of gold.

"Are we done with target practice?" Dick asked.

"You did well," Slade replied. "We are finished."

He didn't dare mention that he had originally thought that Dick would be unwilling to train, so he only packed one clip. Extending his staff, Slade rushed at Dick, who gracefully flipped out of the way and landed on a low branch of a nearby tree. Thunder boomed in the distance, but it was rapidly growing closer. Lightning wove through the sky, and for a moment Dick expected Slade to flicker and disappear. As another strike of blinding lightning shot through the air, Dick leapt from his perch, rolled across the muddy ground, and came to a rest behind the wooden wall. If he had been lucky, Slade hadn't seen him. Curling into himself, he scanned the forest in front of his eyes, but saw nothing. Listening for movement on the other side of the wall, he found that the only thing he heard was the gentle patter of rain.

Sucking in a deep breath of air as he heard a twig break, Dick tightened his grip on his staff and waited. When lightning again streaked across the sky he jumped upwards and propelled himself over the wall. Landing in the mud with a splash, he found himself alone in the clearing. Dick felt something connect with his side. He stumbled sideways and fell on his back. Slade was kneeling over him with a smirk on his face. His staff was pressed hard against Dick's chest, holding him to the ground. Dick gripped Slade's staff and kicked the man off of him. Jumping to his feet, he didn't waste a moment advancing towards Slade. He swung the two staffs like nunchucks and hit Slade with all the strength he had.

After a few hits, Dick settled himself down and evened out his breathing. He almost felt bad for Slade. The staves would surely leave welts, but Slade did not tell him to stop. In fact, pride sparkled in the man's eye. He was proud of how far Dick had come in such a small amount of time. They boy had been as stubborn as a mule when he had first arrived, but he had learned respect. Dick had opened up and accepted that Slade had much to teach him. Every day the boy grew stronger and wiser; Slade couldn't have been more proud. But he feared that Dick would meet the same fate all of his other apprentices had met.

Dick retracted the staves and tossed them both to Slade, who placed them back in the silver case with the gun. The rain was coming down fast and hard by that point. Dick pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and turned to Slade, who unfortunately had nothing to protect him from the rain. Laughing with the spirit of a child, Dick began stamping through mud puddles in the general direction of the house. Even though Dick had not paid attention on the way to the clearing his feet somehow found the path back to the house without any assistance. Slade followed behind him silently the whole time, trusting him not to make a break for it.

Hoping that Wintergreen had something warm to take the chill off prepared, Dick sped up. Not for the first time he realized how strange his life had become. As if it had not been strange from the beginning. What fascinated him was how he had come to trust Slade, a man he was supposed to hate. Maybe he had lost his mind, but both of them had changed, maybe for the better. It was too soon to tell. One thing was for sure though. Dick was not the same person he had been when he first arrived.


	24. The Beginning

Wintergreen sipped his hot tea and sighed with pleasure. The warm liquid felt like heaven as it slid down his throat and warmed his body. The weather had proceeded to get worse. The ground was nothing but mush, mud, and a dash of grass. He loathed the springtime; he hated cleaning up the dirt Slade and Dick tracked in after long training sessions. Most of all he hated the unpredictable weather. Dick, on the other hand, seemed to very much enjoy all the rain they were getting. He would sit in the armchair for hours on end and watch the sky spit upon the earth from the living room window.

The old man constantly caught himself watching Dick. He often wondered what ran through the boy's mind when he would fall into fits of silence and stare off into space. Was he plotting fantasies of escape, or was he simply lost in his own mind? No, nothing was simple about Dick. Wintergreen had learned that the hard way. The boy's mind was like a complex circuit board that was nearly impossible to figure out, although Slade had come remarkably close. Dick was dangerous. Even though Wintergreen was very fond of him, he made it a point to never forget that.

Dick had changed a lot since first arriving. He no longer tried to escape, nor did he throw childish temper tantrums. Wintergreen was quite proud of both Slade and Dick. They had learned to be patient with each other. Most of all they had learned to respect each other. They had come a long way since the beginning; the hardest part was nearly over. It had taken a lot less time than Wintergreen had expected, as it had only been six months. True, there had been some rough patches, and Dick had scars to prove it, but things had mellowed out. Wintergreen had a sneaking suspicion that Dick had been playing a game, that he had pretended to go along with everything just so he could have a chance at escaping, but Wintergreen no longer believed that to be true.

The sun did not shine outside of the window, but there was a small patch of blue that could be seen through the ugly gray clouds. Wintergreen hoped that that day would not be as dreary and miserable as the rest. He was tired of the rain. He currently sat at the kitchen table in his usual position, a newspaper was clutched in his hands and he was reading an article about the stock market. The smell of bacon lingered in the air from the breakfast he had cooked. A plate loaded with scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and bacon sat in front of the unoccupied middle seat of the table.

Slade had passed when Wintergreen had offered him breakfast, then he had promptly escaped to the basement. Dick was still in bed; it was getting late and Wintergreen was beginning to worry. Just as the thought of checking on him passed through his mind, he heard Dick shuffle out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. They rarely closed the boy's bedroom door anymore; instead they left it open a crack so that Dick could come and go freely, but have his privacy. Slade had been reluctant to give him that freedom, but Wintergreen had insisted, saying that it was a great act of trust and it could bring the two closer.

With a yawn, Dick lazily walked into the kitchen. His jet black hair looked like a tumbleweed sitting on top of his head, and he wore an oversized grey t-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama pants. Sitting down at his spot and murmuring a halfhearted "Good morning" before digging into his food. He quickly devoured his bacon and shoved his toast down his throat before downing a whole glass of milk. Wintergreen was appalled; normally Dick had great manners, but that had been like watching a lion take down a grazing zebra. Dick jumped to his feet and ran for the sliding glass door, but was stopped by Wintergreen, who told him to sit down. Reluctantly, he complied.

"Do you have a hot date?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Slade said to go down to the basement after I finished breakfast. He has something to show me."

"You are not finished with breakfast," Wintergreen pointed out.

He looked down at his plate. "I don't like eggs?"

"Nice try. Now eat. Eggs are a good source of protein; they'll put some meat on those bones."

"Are you trying to make me fat?" Dick asked jokingly. "When was the last time you saw a fat acrobat?"

Wintergreen chuckled. "Just eat."

Picking up his fork with an exaggerated sigh, Dick shoveled some eggs into his mouth, grumbling about how he didn't like them. Wintergreen was amused by the scene; Dick hardly ever used sarcasm, but when he did Wintergreen loved it. It lightened the mood in the normally dull house. Dick was like the sun; sometimes he would hide behind dark clouds and sulk, and sometimes he would burn brighter than a star and make everybody's day a little better. Wintergreen and Slade had both agreed that it was a good idea to give Dick his space when he became silent and unresponsive. The boy deserved the solitude after everything he had been through.

Once Dick had finished his breakfast, he sat down his fork and looked up at Wintergreen expectantly. After a few moments of agonizing silence, the old man finally nodded and Dick jumped out of his chair faster than the speed of light. Grabbing his sweatshirt off the coatrack, he quickly slipped it over his head and came up for air. Dick eased himself onto the floor and pulled on his pair of muddy Nikes. They had originally been grey and red, but they were in desperate need of a wash. He did not bother changing out of his pajamas for he was too excited.

Climbing to his feet, Dick moved to the sliding glass door and was surprised when he pulled it open. Slade must have unlocked it so he could get out, Dick decided. Stepping out onto the patio, he was quite disappointed to see the sun coming out. He wished it would rain for a few more days, but all good things must come to an end. Dick had not expected the air to be humid, but after all, it was June. His skin became sticky with sweat, and it was almost too much for him to wear his sweatshirt. But he had experienced worse heat, so he sucked it up.

Turning around the corner of the house, he found the padlock that was usually clamped on the casement doors lying in the tall green grass. The basement door was an old fashioned hatch that led into the ground. The big metal doors were rather heavy, so it took much of Dick's strength to open them. When he did, they made an awful creaking sound that was like nails on a chalkboard. Quietly climbing down the basement stairs, Dick kept his hand along the wall so as not to stumble and fall. More than anything he wished there was a handrail. The stairs were rocky and uneven; the house itself was probably over one hundred years old.

The open room of the basement was dark, although some light leaked in from the open doors above the stairs. Without much thought, Dick melted into the darkness. The shadows wrapped around him, hiding him. He moved swiftly through the empty room towards the door on the left and shouldered it open. It took him a moment to register that there were no light on in the gum. Stepping out of the room, he found that the door on the right was slightly ajar and a sliver of light shone outward. After a few moments, he hesitantly approached the door and knocked four times.

The door swung open to reveal a seemingly empty room. Well, it wasn't empty so much as uninhabited. The room, like all the others in the basement, had a grey concrete floor and grey cinderblock walls. Many weapons hung on the walls, such as guns, grenades, whips, and staves. There were more than Dick could count. On the far side of the room hung Slade's uniform, much like the way Batman's were hung in the Batcave. A smaller uniform was hanging beside it. Dick wasn't aware that his feet were moving until he was standing right in front of it. Tentatively he reached up and stroked the material as if he were afraid it was going to bite him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shift, but he kept his eyes on the uniform.

"Is it mine?" he asked, almost dazed.

"Yes," Slade replied. "Do you like it?"

Dick was lost for words. Did he like it? No. Words could not describe how he felt about it. The uniform was not like the one he wore in his first apprenticeship, nor was it like the one Terra had worn. The uniform was the color of shadows, perfect for blending in. There were a series of metal plates to protect his arms, legs, and vital organs. On the chest, just above where his heart would be, was Slade's insignia, just like his brand. At the thought his chest ached a little and he rubbed it absentmindedly. Tracing his fingers over the insignia on the uniform, he frowned.

"What's the matter?" Slade asked. "Don't you like it?"

"No, I like it. It's amazing," Dick answered. He pointed to the silver insignia. "Why is this on here?"

Slade seemed taken aback. "Because you are my apprentice."

"I understand," he said quickly. "But I don't think I will go by the name 'Slade'."

The mercenary smirked and nodded slightly. "Have you thought of a name?"

"Uhhh…Apprentice?"

Slade laughed and removed the insignia. "Do you want to try it on?"

Dick nodded excitedly. "Can I?"

"It would be an improvement over what you're wearing."

Dick looked down and realized he was still in his pajamas. His face became hot and he chuckled. Never had he imagined he would be standing in front of Slade in only his pajamas. Slade took the uniform down and tossed it to Dick, who caught it and cradled it to his chest. The man pointed at an old wooden door off to their right and Dick hesitantly approached it. Turning the knob, he flicked on the lights and let himself in. The room was a medium sized bathroom with floors and walls the same as the previous room. A porcelain toilet sat in the corner parallel to the door and a sink with a mirror hung above it stood on the other side of the room. A stand up shower stood in the far corner; it looked like it hadn't been used in years.

Tugging his sweatshirt and pajama shirt off in one try, he inspected himself in the mirror. The last couple months had been emotionally strenuous, though his nightmares had become less frequent. Lately he had been hit with a terrible spell of insomnia. Often he would lie in his bed, wrapped in the comfort of his blankets, and just stare at his ceiling for hours. Maybe it was his thoughts that kept him up, but after hours of thinking he could never recall what he had been thinking about. Or maybe it was what he wasn't thinking about that kept him awake.

Dark circles rimmed his eyes from loss of sleep, making the scar across his right eye stand out. Tight muscles bulged under his skin and flexed when he moved. He hadn't gained all of his weight back, but what he lacked in weight he made up for in muscle. He was nice and slim, a decent size, but he knew Wintergreen wanted him to be larger. His hair had grown out a little bit, making it look more natural. Wintergreen had trimmed back all the bothersome strands. Dick swore that both Slade and Wintergreen still laughed at his cutting job. Holding back laughter, he realized that if he slicked back his hair and wore a leather jacket, he could pass for a Greaser. The insignia on his chest was as pink as ever against his pale skin, but he hardly noticed it.

Untying the string around his pajama pants, he immediately fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them. Gathering up his clothes, he neatly folded them, a habit he had earned from Alfred, and placed them on the closed toilet seat. Dick picked up his new uniform and rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger. Kevlar, just as he expected. Sticking his legs through first, he pulled the uniform over his head and positioned it correctly. Once he had it on he was surprised by how light it was. He could have sworn the metal would have been at least one hundred pounds, but it was so light he felt like he was in the buff. Gingerly poking at his chest, he found extra padding there.

With both his feet and hands bare, he walked out of the bathroom. It took him a moment to realize the suit fit him perfectly. His mouth twitched upward. How was it that Slade got his size just right for the uniform, but failed guessing at everything else? Stepping into the other room, he found Slade standing in front of a table with his back turned to him. Dick folded his hands behind his back and moved to Slade's side, waiting for him to speak. A pair of boots and gloves were shoved into his hands before he had the time to ask any questions. The boots were much like the ones he had worn as Robin. They were black and appeared to have the same metal as his uniform attached to the bottom. The gloves were simply black.

Slipping on the gloves and boots, he turned to face Slade. His chest was puffed out and a smirk had found its way onto his face. It was almost as if he were proud to wear the uniform. In that moment everything became painfully real. He couldn't pretend that all the terrible things that had happened to him were just dreams. He was really wearing the uniform Slade had given him; he was really willingly training under Slade. Deep down, something inside him screamed. Dick believed it to be his old self. It told him to rebel, to tell Slade off, but he hushed it and hoped it would go away.

"Why did you have to pick Halloween colors?" Dick asked lightly.

Slade raised an eyebrow. "Does it fit?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Dick examined the metal. "Is this adamantium?"

"It is."

Dick was a little shocked. Adamantium was a very strong metal, possibly as strong as Superman's skin. The metal was also very light; it was easy to carry, as light as a feather. On the other hand, adamantium was very rare. Dick had believed it to be a myth. It was supposed to be extremely hard to create, and it was very expensive.

"Do you have your hands in some money?"

"I have access to a small fortune," Slade confirmed.

"A _small_ fortune?" Dick scoffed. "Even Bruce doesn't have the money to buy adamantium."

The air became thick with tension as it always did at the mention of his mentor. Dick quickly turned away, not wanting to see Slade's angry face. The man got jealous when Dick would reference Bruce, but he couldn't blame him. It was an unspoken rule not to mention the Justice League or the Titans, but sometimes the words slipped out before he could stop them. Sometimes Dick believed that he whispered their names in his sleep, like he was telling a secret meant only for his mind. On the rare occasions sleep did find him, he dreamt about them, but when he awoke he did not long for sleep again. It was a dream and only a dream. He could not afford to waste his time on such nonsense. His life with Slade and Wintergreen was his reality.

Dick heard Slade sigh before turning to look at him. In his hands was a silver utility belt with various pockets and a circular clip. For the first time he realized how much he missed his utility belt. Eagerly taking the belt from Slade, he clipped it into place, suddenly feeling whole again. Opening a few pockets, he found all the usual gadgets, such as sharp-edged boomerangs, ziplines, grappling hooks, and retractable staves. There was even a holster for a gun. Opening the pocket closest to the belt clip, he pulled out an object he thought he'd never see again. A mask. Placing it on his face, he grimaced. It felt scratchy and uncomfortable. The mask was no different than the one he had worn during his first apprenticeship, which was hardly different than the one he wore as Robin. But he did not like the way this mask fit over his eyes; it felt unnatural. Peeling it off, he slapped it down on the table.

"No mask."

Slade stared at him for a moment. "What about your identity?"

He shrugged. "I don't really look like _Dick Grayson _anymore. Besides, no one has seen me in years, it won't really make a difference."

"You're giving up your identity?"

"No, I'm just not Dick Grayson, ward of…Bruce Wayne. I'm Dick, just Dick. Apprentice of Slade."


	25. Trust

_Before the chapter, I'm going to address a question from an anon reviewer. Last chapter Dick mentioned that he hadn't been seen in years. That seemed to have confused people. To clarify: Dick has only been with Slade and Wintergreen for a few months. Charlie meant that Dick had been with the Titans for years and hadn't been seen as Dick Grayson. Also, there was another review asking if I had a regular update schedule...No, I don't. I'm lazy and I type when I feel like it, so updates take a while. Sorry._

_Okay, onto the chapter!_

* * *

At some point in the night sleep had found Dick; he had even dreamed. In his dream he had been Robin again, hanging out with his friends, having a good time. The dream had been so vivid he had almost thought it to be real. Beast Boy had been cracking terrible jokes and Starfire had been telling stories of life on Tamaran. Alfred had even shown up to give them cookies. It had been a nice dream, an escape to fantasy land, but Dick let it go, knowing he had more important things to worry about.

When Dick woke up, his room was still dark and his alarm hadn't gone off, so he let his eyes flutter shut. His body sunk into the mattress and his blanket lay over his body like a fine sheet of snow. Curling further into his blankets, he wondered when the last time he had felt so comfortable was. His body was relaxed; he probably couldn't hold up his head if he tried. Though his mind wondered off, he did not fall back asleep. Images flickered behind his eyelids, bringing him a sense of peace and comfort. It was the most peaceful sleep he had ever had and he wanted it to last forever, but his mind screamed at him to check the time.

Rolling onto his side, he reached out blindly, looking for his alarm clock. For a moment his hand groped only the air, but it eventually found the edge of his nightstand. Inching his hand along the wooden surface of the table, his fingers brushed the plastic of his clock. Picking it up, he held it over his face and peeled open his eyes. Dick's heart nearly stopped when he read the time. It was 11:30, five and a half hours after the time he was supposed to get up. He dropped the clock on the floor, where the back flew off and the batteries rolled under the bed. Dick refrained from swearing as he ripped his blankets off his body and jumped out of bed.

Stumbling through his room like a drunken man, Dick began tearing his clothes off and carelessly tossed them onto the floor. He pulled open his drawers and grabbed the first articles of clothing he could find. Dick quickly pulled the clothes on, nor caring if they were inside out or backwards. Dashing out his door and running down the hall, he prepared to be lectured or punished. Though Slade no longer struck him, he was still punished, whether it be with extra training or cleaning the house by himself. Dick hadn't been punished in months though, so Slade may have come up with something more creative.

Dick stopped at the end of the hallway. His heart fluttered like a bird in a cage, and he felt like there was a stone in his stomach. Something was off. Taking a deep breath, he peeked around the corner to find an empty kitchen. Wintergreen was not in his usual spot, reading the newspaper. There were no lingering smells of breakfast, nor were there any new smells of lunch. Peering into the living room, he found it to be empty too. The place was like a ghost town. The stillness that had settled over the house almost scared him; it was like he was the last person on earth. A chill ran down his spine. What was going on?

"Slade, Wintergreen?" he called meekly.

He knew no one would answer. Moving through the room, Dick approached the window and pulled aside the curtains. The front yard was empty, only a squirrel scurried through the grass. The driveway that led into the trees seemed undisturbed. Turning away from the window, Dick let his eyes sweep over the living room. It was neat and tidy as usual; nothing looked out of place. A folded newspaper sat on the end table in front of the window. Gingerly picking it up, Dick flipped through the pages, but found nothing interesting.

Setting the paper down, he was suddenly hit with the thought that Slade may be waiting for him in the basement. He had woken up late, so it was a possibility that the man was waiting on him. Walking out of the living room, he moved into the kitchen. Beyond the sliding glass door, he could see the yard was kissed with sunlight; the only shade was underneath the crying tree. Dick hesitantly gripped the wooden handle of the door and quietly slid it open. He was suddenly hit with a warm breeze that brought sweat to the surface of his skin. Grey clouds were swiftly riding on the wind like a surfer on a wave. Wintergreen would be disappointed, but Dick really hoped that it would rain.

The ground was dry from the warm weather they had received the last few days. No, not warm. Hot, almost unbearably so. Wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, Dick stepped out onto the cement porch and found himself looking full on at the weeping willow tree that stood in the center of the yard. Despite the warm weather, a shiver ran down his back like an electrical shock. He hated the tree more than anything on the planet. It stood there, tall and proud. It taunted him, it was almost like a gravestone. The tree was a constant reminder of what he had done. It marked the very spot where Dick had taken his first life. He wanted to take an axe to it, then set fire to the hunk of fallen wood, but somehow he knew Slade would not allow it.

Dick had expected the pain of taking a life to be much greater. He had expected it to be a soul crushing weight that would break him in half. Though he had grieved, he didn't completely regret killing the dogs. It had either been him or them, and he had a lot more to live for than a couple of dogs did. His stomach twisted in a gut wrenching way at that thought. All life is precious; but then again, he was no vegan. In the end he decided that it could have been worse; he could have taken the life of a human being. What would Bruce think about what he had done? Dick shook the thought from his head. He didn't know what Bruce would say, nor did he care that Slade's reaction to the stabbing had not been what Dick was expecting. He had thought the man would be proud of what he had done, but he hadn't been. Slade knew that killing the dogs had deeply disturbed the boy, and he went out of his way to make sure Dick was okay.

Descending the porch steps, Dick bent down and rolled the bottoms of his pants up, giving his legs some fresh air. The long blades of green grass that sprung from the soil tickled his exposed flesh. The grass had grown rather long; it was now nearly seven inches. Dick idly wondered if there was a lawnmower somewhere and if he was going to get assigned the task of cutting the grass. Standing up straight, he breathed in a lungful of air. It was so moist it felt like he had barely breathed at all. The sun, which was getting ready for a war with the storm clouds, still shone down with a blazing brilliance.

Turning around the corner of the house, Dick became very confused. Kneeling in the lush grass, he reached for the basement doors and held the still attached lock in his hand. Furrowing his brow, he looked up at the window that stood above the basement doors, which was to Slade's room. He almost expected Slade to be standing there, though he wasn't. It was obvious no one was in the basement. Letting the lock rest against the rusted doors, he got to his feet again and began to make his way back to the house. He heard the sounds of approaching thunder, and the clouds were growing ever closer. He wanted to wanted there and let the rain pour down on him, soaking him to the bone, but he knew Wintergreen would not appreciate him tracking the water in.

Dick's heart jumped into his throat as a horrible thought popped into his head. What if something had happened while he had been sleeping? His heart skipped a beat. What if someone had attacked? Slade had probably made a lot of enemies over the years, so the idea was plausible. But why leave him alone? That was what Dick didn't understand. Unless…unless no one knew about him. It made sense; Slade wouldn't want anyone to know about him until he was ready, like a big unveiling. What kind of surprise would Dick be if everyone knew about him? A million terrible possibilities flashed through his head in a matter of seconds. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

He hadn't known he had been running until he reached the door. Ripping it open with such force that he thought it would derail, he stomped into the kitchen, not bothering to take off his shoes. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird's wings, his stomach lurched, and he wanted to vomit. What if something _had _happened? He quietly walked down the hallway, slipping into the shadows, hiding himself. From what, he didn't exactly know. Why he was being quiet, he didn't know either. He had already made his presence known by slamming the door. Silently he scolded himself for not grabbing a knife from the kitchen. If there was someone in the house, then he was on his own.

So far he had seen no signs of a struggle, but that was only from what he had seen in the living room and kitchen. Gripping the doorknob of the linen closet, he released the air in his lungs and quickly pulled it open, preparing for the worst. Closing the door, he continued down the hall; his room was next. Luckily he had left his door open, so whoever may have been hiding lost the element of surprise. Dick flicked his light on and gazed into his empty bedroom. It was the same as he left it, nothing had been touched. Unfortunately, paranoia had set in. Getting on his hands and knees, he lifted up the edge of his sheets to peer under his bed, where he also found absolutely nothing.

Exiting his room, he mentally prepared himself for what was to happen next. Wintergreen's room was next, and Dick was afraid of what he might find. Reaching for the doorknob, he pulled his hand away at the last second as if he were about to touch a hot pan. Dick decided to check the bathroom first instead, but a quick glance in told him it was completely empty. He then decided it would be best to check Wintergreen's room quickly. Yanking the door open, he saw no mangled body, nor blood spattered on the wall. He saw a sickeningly tidy room with white walls, an ugly brown carpet, and a large bed. The bed was neatly made; it had a dark oak backboard and a beige comforter. Quickly he checked the underside of the bed and the closet before leaving.

Once back in the hallway, Dick moved to Slade's bedroom door. Seeing that Wintergreen's room had been unharmed gave him the strength to look into Slade's. Opening the door, he found it untouched also. The walls were a light shade of blue, so light that it almost looked white. His bedspread was a darker shade of blue. Checking under the bed, Dick moved to the bathroom, which was also empty. An eerie silence fell over the house and Dick wanted to scream just to break it. It was thick and choked him with every breath he took. Something didn't feel right; he was completely and utterly alone, and it scared him. Stumbling out of the room, Dick made his way down the hall and found himself in the kitchen. Then he saw it. Sitting on the counter was a piece of lined paper with words scrawled on it. Picking it up, Dick examined it.

_Apprentice,_

_ An emergency has come up, we had to leave immediately. We should be back before nightfall._

The note was short and looked like it had been written by a five year old, but it was enough to calm Dick down. Setting the note down, he imagined what kind of emergency was so important that both Slade and Wintergreen dropped everything and left. How had they even gone? Dick had not seen a car or any mode of transportation in the five months that he had been there. Surely they hadn't walked, though it would not surprise him if they had. Why had they not told him they were leaving? It would have saved him a lot of grief. What was he supposed to do until nightfall? He had finished reading _Falling _a while back.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling. A small smile crept onto his face. It looked like his boring day was going to start with a quick meal. Dick hoped that there were microwave meals in the freezer because he was a terrible cook. Though he was sure he could receive a blue ribbon in a science fair for his creations. Much to his dismay, Dick found no frozen dinners in the freezer. Checking the fridge, he grabbed the quickest and easiest thing: eggs. Setting them and a tub of butter on the counter, he began to rummage through the cabinets in search of a pan. How could Wintergreen have so many cooking supplies? Finding an adequate pan, he turned on a burner, put a dollop of butter in the pan, and set it on the stove.

Dick cracked two eggs into a bowl before whisking them with a fork and dumping them into the pan. He hated cooking, mainly because he sucked at it. Alfred had tried to teach him several times, but he was a lost cause. Stirring the slightly burnt eggs, Dick shoveled them onto a plate and carried it to the table, where he took his seat. Poking the experiment with his fork, he hesitantly took a bite and decided it wasn't completely terrible. Once he was finished eating, he placed all his dishes in the sink and washed them.

Elbow high in suds, Dick gazed out the window and watched the rain splatter against the glass like paint. It was just sprinkling, but he knew that it was going to rain long and hard soon. Placing the freshly washed dishes in the dish drainer, Dick felt lost. He honestly didn't know what to do with himself. He had never had a whole day to himself, so he wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do. Normally when he had free time, he would help Wintergreen around the house, but Wintergreen was not home and there was not a speck of dust in sight. Seldom did he get any time to himself anymore; Slade always had him on his toes, he constantly trained. But he wasn't complaining, as training gave him something to do and it made him stronger. Dick was not a power seeker, but he had never felt more powerful. Slade had shown him things he could have only dreamed of. He felt like he could take on a Kryptonian. Not that he would ever try, he did not have a death wish.

Dick slowly made his way into the living room and immediately went to the bookshelf. Most of the books were in collections or volumes, but he had already read the loose ones. He was looking at a wall of at least eighty books, which was strange because he had never seen Slade or Wintergreen read anything other than the newspaper. The book collection was composed of many genres, including fantasy, mystery, and science fiction. Dick had found Sherlock Holmes, Lord of the Rings, and much to his amusement, Harry Potter. For some reason he found the thought of Slade reading the Harry Potter books hilarious. Maybe he had bought them for Dick, but the thought was still amusing. Scanning over the books, he plucked one from the shelf and took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the window.

Lightning flashed across the sky outside and thunder soon followed. Dick closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the chair, letting the sounds of the storm vibrate throughout his body and turn every one of his nerves into a live wire. Opening his eyes, he turned the book over in his hands. It looked so old that he expected it fall apart in his hands. The book was a faded shade of green and a picture of leaf was on the cover. _Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo_ was written along the spine in curvy gold letters. Dick recalled Alfred telling him of the stage play. That was the main reason he had picked it up; it was as if it were a link to his life before. He knew very little about the book other than it was about the French Revolution and almost everyone was dead before the end.

The storm raged on as Dick sat in the safety of the living room, reading his ancient book. The sky had grown dark despite how early it was. The pounding of rain in Dick's ears was like a gentle melody played by an orchestra. Soon he found the words in his book blurring together and his mind could no longer comprehend what was going on. His eyelids had grown heavy and his breaths had evened out. Shutting his book, he sat it on the end table next to Wintergreen's newspaper. The rain was mysterious to him; it either excited him to no end, or lulled him to sleep. Dick got to his feet and stretched his limbs, unwilling to fall asleep in the living room.

Yawning, he drug his feet along the carpet as he made his way back to his bedroom. The sound of rain pounding against the roof filled his head. Resting for a while never hurt anybody. As he made his way down the hall, Dick noticed something that he hadn't before. A door stood parallel to his own. It was as if it had appeared by magic, or had been conjured out of thin air. He hesitantly reached for the knob, but quickly pulled away when it shocked him. Rolling his eyes, Dick grabbed the golden knob and pulled the door open, surprised that it was not locked. He gazed in wonder at the rectangular staircase that twisted upward. He half expected that the door would lead to Narnia. Laughing slightly, Dick wondered if Slade had read those books too.

Dick ran his hand along the smooth surface of the wall, looking for the light switch. When he finally found it, he flicked it on and held the railing that lined the wall. Glancing unsurely over his shoulder, Dick began to climb the stairs. His heart thumped in his chest as he slowly ascended. What would he find in the mysterious attic? As he climbed, the rain grew louder as if he was getting closer to it. The beating of the rain was like the sound of distant drums. For a moment he thought the rain was keeping time to his heart, but it was only his overactive imagination. Emerging at the top, Dick found himself quite disappointed with what he saw. He honestly didn't know what he thought he would find, but he wasn't expecting to find a plain bedroom, hardly different from the rest.

The walls only went up a couple feet before they curved and met in the middle of the ceiling in the shape of a triangle. The walls were a blank white. Straight across from the stairs was a circular window that overlooked the front yard. To the left was a perfectly made twin sized bed that had a blue blanket draped over it. To his right was a tall dresser. Walking further into the room, Dick allowed his hands to ghost over the bed; it hadn't been used in months. A fine layer of dust had settled over the polished surface of the dresser. Apparently Wintergreen didn't clean the attic. Sitting on the corner of the bed, Dick watched the rain fall outside of the window. Kicking his shoes off, he allowed himself to fall back. Dick felt like he was floating on a cloud. Lately he had been having trouble sleeping, but his eyes had no problem sliding shut. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

Dick didn't know how long he had been out, but when he woke up it was dark and the rain as still pouring. Normally he would have kept on sleeping, but he had awakened to the sound of a door opening. Sometime in his sleep, he had crawled under the covers to find warmth. His sleep had been a black bliss of oblivion; he hadn't dreamed. Dick felt unnaturally refreshed. Sleep was so foreign that even the smallest amount refreshed him. Maybe it wasn't his mind keeping him up; maybe it was his bed. The dogs' blood was still soaked deep into the mattress despite his best efforts to clean it. Rolling out of bed, Dick staggered over to the stairs and quietly made his way down them, all the while holding on to the hand rail so he would not trip and break his neck in his half asleep state. He smiled a bit at the irony of the thought. He spent his life training as a graceful acrobat, only to stumble over his own feet. Alfred used to pick on him when he would stumble. Dick frowned; he really missed Alfred. Out of everyone who had disappeared from his life, he probably missed the old butler the most.

Managing to get down the stairs, Dick slipped into the hallway. Closing the door behind him, he was suddenly worried that he would get in trouble for being in the attic. Dick hoped that Slade would understand that he had been curious and had not been trying to cause trouble. Slade had been more tolerant of Dick lately, but Wintergreen had been less tolerant of Slade. He constantly questioned Slade's motives. The old man was looking out for Dick. He always made sure Slade knew what he was doing, that he wouldn't hurt Dick. Rounding the corner, Dick found Slade and Wintergreen standing in front of the front door. Their hair was plastered to their heads from the rain, and their shoulders were soaked. When Slade saw him, a look passed over the man's face that Dick had never seen before; confusion.

"You're still here."

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

"This was a test," Dick said; it was a statement, not a question.

Slade nodded slightly. "And you passed with flying colors."

Dick felt a little more than stupid for not realizing it sooner. All the evidence had been there! He had been left alone with the doors unlocked. Bruce would have had his hide for not figuring it out earlier. Slade placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze; pride shone in his single eye, and the corner of his mouth crept upward. Dick returned his smile. Throughout the day, he had not once thought about leaving. Wintergreen was proud of both of them; in a single day, Dick had completely earned their trust. It was all smooth sailing from there, at least that's what Wintergreen believed.

"What would you have done if I had run?" Dick asked.

Slade raised an eyebrow. "Remember that flu shot?"

Dick almost facepalmed. Why was he so blind? Most of the time, he could smell something fishy from miles away. He frowned slightly. He had become like a mini-Bruce while he had been with the Titans; so serious, always looking for a hidden motive. He didn't want to go back to that. His frown deepened as he looked Slade in the eye. Something wasn't right.

"You injected a tracking device into me," Dick accused. "You didn't trust me."

"No, I didn't trust you," he agreed. "But I do now."

Dick felt something being shoved into his hand. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down and gazed at the object in wonder. Resting in his hands was a metallic green key card to open the front and back doors.

* * *

_I'm sorry that chapter was probably terribly boring to most of you. To be honest, I think that's why it took me so long to type it; I just got really bored._


	26. Cheesy Pizza

_Sorry I haven't updated in like two weeks. I've been having an existential crisis over the series finale of Fringe for the last week, and I've been an emotional wreck ever since I watched it. But then again, I'm sure you've all gotten used to my inability to update quickly._

* * *

Kid Flash was smart. He knew a lot of things, such as the secret identities of most of the Justice League members. It's what he didn't know that bothered him. He didn't know where Robin was, or if he was even alive. He didn't know what Deathstroke had done to him. But what bothered him most wasn't any of those things; what bothered him most what the fact that he could not figure out how in the world the Titans got the T-Car off of Titans Island. Kid Flash almost scoffed. If they kept adding 'Titans' and 'T' to the beginning of everything they would be as bad as Batman. But seriously, how did they get the car off the island? It couldn't fly, at least as far as he knew, and it couldn't float, but it sure could sink.

Having a mind that worked at superspeed sucked because Kid Flash could only hold onto one thing for so long before his brain moved onto the next topic. Many strange thoughts swirled through his head as he ran through the busy streets of Jump City faster than a speeding bullet. Sure, that was Superman's thing, but it was better than a flash related joke. Kid Flash groaned a little; he really needed to get his Uncle Barry a new joke book. It would save everyone a few headaches, at least for a while.

His mind shifted back to the task at hand. He was currently racing toward Main Street of Jump City to stop Mumbo Jumbo. He and the Titans had been lounging in the Tower when the alarm had gone off and the computer had announced that Mumbo had yet again broken out of jail. Part of having super speed was having no patience whatsoever. He wasn't moving too fast, everyone else was moving too slow. While the Titans were piling into the T-Car, Kid Flash had raced across the bay and into the city, which he regretted because he wanted to know how they got the blasted car off the island. The streets had been busy, but Kid Flash had moved through them like water flowing down a riverbed. It was almost like everyone had frozen in place just for him, but he knew that it was just his body working faster than they could move.

As he approached Main Street, Kid Flash found that Mumbo had blocked the four-way intersection with assorted vehicles. Each of the cars had been abandoned, thankfully. Concerned citizens littered the sidewalk with looks of shock and terror seemingly frozen on their faces. Upon growing closer to the block, Kid Flash pulled back on his speed and watched as the world came to life around him. The citizens began to move and their faces changed from those of fear to hope as they pointed at the young hero who ran through the streets at a remarkable speed. Even though he wasn't going as fast as usual, he wasn't going slow either. Tilting back on his heels, Kid Flash hit the ground and slid under a white Plymouth Sundance at the same speed he had been running. Silently, he thanked his Uncle Barry for anti-roadrash armor.

Emerging on the other side, Kid Flash flew to his feet and paused for a moment, which was a very long time for a speedster. Observing the scene, Kid Flash found Mumbo turning various objects into flowers and pieces of candy. Glass was scattered across the ground from a broken bank window, and fearful employees gazed out past the shards of broken glass. Kid Flash's first opinion of Mumbo Jumbo was that he was a Joker wannabe. Upon further inspection, he found that the magician was nothing like the crazy clown. Mumbo wasn't hostile or smart, he was stupid and clumsy. The young speedster almost pitied him.

Rushing forward, Kid Flash veered to the left just before he collided with the villain. The ground beneath his feet was turned to ice and his feet couldn't gain traction. Twisting his body, Kid Flash slid right into Mumbo. Their foreheads connected and both of them fell onto their behinds. A cloud of playing cards exploded in the air and fell onto the ground like rain. Mumbo's hat had fallen off his head and had landed on Kid Flash's lap. For a second the two stared at each other, shocked, then Mumbo made a mad grab for his hat, but Kid Flash had disappeared then reappeared on the sidewalk. Gazing curiously at the hat, a smile crossed his face. Mumbo seemed pretty upset that he had his hat. The villain looked like he was going to cry. Kid Flash, on the other hand, laughed.

"You want this?" Kid Flash taunted, holding the hat high. "Come get it!"

"The stitching!" Mumbo screeched. "Watch the stitching!"

Kid Flash's mind raced. The blue skinned freak seemed very protective of his hat, and he highly doubted that it was a family heirloom. He had been worried about the stitching. A wicked grin spread across his face. Kid Flash was great at tearing things apart; he had plenty of pairs of mutilated sneakers to prove that. Taking off, he let the magician's hat drag along the ground as he began to run laps around Mumbo Jumbo. He felt the hat shudder beneath his hands and he saw it come apart stitch by stitch. The top fell off and the material fell in on itself. All the while, Kid Flash laughed his head off. He loved his job.

When Kid Flash finally came to a stop, he found Mumbo on his knees before him. The crazy magician was gone. He had transformed into a sad old man. Mumbo's skin was no longer blue, but a normal shade. His hair was as white as snow and his domino mask was gone, replaced with sad puppy dog eyes. It only took a few moments for the police to break the car block and for them to seize Mumbo and shove him in the back of a cruiser. A young officer thanked Kid Flash with a warm smile and was on his way.

Turning on his heel, Kid Flash's face changed from that of satisfaction to one of horror. He was facing every hero's nightmare. A sea of reporters had surrounded him without him knowing. They waved their notepads and flashed their cameras in his face, each trying to catch a glimpse of the new hero of Jump City. Blinking the spots from his eyes, Kid Flash gave a nervous smile and sheepishly waved. He felt like a trapped animal and he wanted nothing more than to run away. However, there were too many people and the crowd overwhelmed him. He wanted to scream and cry like a little girl, but he knew he had to spit out the story Batman had fed him. It was a known fact that Kid Flash loved attention, but he loathed attention from reporters, especially the ones who poked and prodded until his head nearly exploded.

Out of the crowd emerged a woman. The way she walked resembled the way a leaf would float in the breeze. She had long legs and a slim body. The female reporter wore a red skirt and overcoat that took away from her appearance. Her oval shaped face was hard, yet she had an out of place smile on it. The woman's lips were painted rose red and her chocolate eyes were covered by a pair of thin framed glasses. Her shiny black hair was wound in a tight bun on the back of her head. Kid Flash almost mistook her for Lois Lane, but Lois always wore her hair down. A nervous looking man in a blue sweater vest and brown cargo pants followed behind her. He had sandy blond hair that had probably been done at Quick-E-Cuts, and hideous horn rimmed glasses. In his hands were a notepad and pencil sharpened to perfection. The female reporter grabbed Kid Flash's hand and gave it a rough shake.

"Rhonda Lyle," she said curtly. "It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Flash."

"Oh, umm, Mr. Flash is my uncle," Kid Flash stuttered.

"Alright, Flash Jr."

He scowled and muttered, "I think I prefer Mr. Flash."

Lyle smiled and got uncomfortably close. "I have a few questions for you. Remember, the whole world wants to know."

Kid Flash looked around for some route of escape, but there was none. Past the mob of people, he saw the T-Car pull up and the Titans pile out. Immediately the mob split in half; half going after the Titans and the other half pursuing him. Raven floated into the air, smugly gazing down at the disappointed reporters. Kid Flash envied her. It would be so easy to up and fly away from the hungry sea of reporters looking for a good dish. Rubbing the back of his head nervously, Kid Flash chuckled and looked at Lyle.

"Ask away."

"Are you the new leader of the Teen Titans?" she asked with a sickly sweet smile.

"No," he answered smoothly. "That's Cyborg's job."

She studied him for a second. "Did Robin quit the team?"

The speedster shook his head furiously. "He's doing the Dynamic Duo thing in Gotham."

Lyle's eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. She nearly grabbed the redhead and shook him. "What's going on in Gotham City? Why was it the focus of the Justice League several months back? Why was Batman in Star City?"

"That's League business, but I can assure you that everything is alright. Robin is just helping Batman with the aftermath. He'll be back in Jump in no time."

The man with the notepad looked up and locked eyes with Lyle. "That _would _explain the Robin sightings in Gotham."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "It would."

Kid Flash fought off a shocked gasp. Robin sighting in Gotham? What was that about? Had Batman found a way to support the story he had made up? Kid Flash wanted nothing more than to shake Lyle down for all the details, but doing so would reveal that he had been lying. Patience was not his strong suit. Maybe he could follow Lyle and her assistant to get the lowdown. Quickly he shook the thought from his head. He was by no means a detective. If he attempted to solve a murder, the prime suspect would probably be himself. They normally left the detecting to Batman, for good reason. But still the question ate at him. How could someone have possibly seen Robin in Gotham when he was God-knows-where with a crazy mercenary?

A green mouse scurried through the crowd, dodging feet that threatened to stomp upon him and squish him like a bug. Winding his way through the labyrinth of people, he idly wondered why he had not turned into a hawk and flew over the crowd. That would have made things so much faster. Looking up, Beast Boy found a foot coming down on him. Darting forward, he ran face first into a red boot. Transforming back into a human, he found himself standing next to Kid Flash, who was speaking to a reporter. The speedster looked uncomfortable, like he was about to make a mad dash at any second. The female reporter was definitely intimidating. She made _him_ want to crawl under his covers and weep.

"I just have a few more questions," Lyle began.

"And I'd _love_ to answer them," Kid Flash said, feigning enthusiasm. He slung an arm around Beast Boy's neck and pulled him to his side, like they were age old friends. "But I have a better story. Did you know Beast Boy's skin is green because he has a highly contagious skin disease?"

The world around them seemed to freeze. All eyes were on them and everyone shut their mouths. Then the whole world exploded in mass chaos and panic. People began screaming and crawling over each other to get away from the teenaged boys. Pencils, notepads, and cameras were abandoned and left on the street for people to stomp and trip over.

Kid Flash's bottom lip quivered for a second before he burst out laughing. Beast Boy soon joined him. They clutched their aching sides as they stumbled to the T-Car. Cyborg stood tall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. For a moment he glared down at the two younger members of the team, then he grabbed them both a rustled their hair affectionately.

"Who's up for pizza?" Beast Boy chimed.

"Oh, yes! What a glorious idea!" Starfire exclaimed.

"I could eat," Kid Flash agreed.

"Dude, you're always hungry," Beast Boy pointed out.

"What can I say, I have a high metabolism."

Raven cleared her throat. "This is all assuming that the pizza joint is still standing."

Gazing down the street, Kid Flash saw that the pizzeria was indeed still standing. Though the shop looked worn, it still stood at the Y in the street. Apparently it was a Titans tradition to go and get pizza after a battle, which was no problem for him due to his metabolism. However he did not look forward to the argument that came with choosing a pizza topping. Kid Flash found that it was much easier to buy his own pizza, not only because he could eat it on his own, but because he could avoid eating a meatless pizza or a pizza with mint frosting. Shivering a bit, Kid Flash felt his stomach churn. The Titans had some strange tastes. He was by no means a picky eater, he couldn't afford to be. On several occasions he had seen Starfire drinking out of a mustard bottle, not even he could down that.

The five teenagers walked down the street towards the pizzeria. Kid Flash studied the group. They were no longer the rag-tag team of misfits he had once known. The Titans had lost their pep. Starfire hadn't flown in months, though she attempted to smile and cheer up her teammates. Raven was as dark and dismal as ever; she was like a rain cloud that hung over the team. Cyborg, though still fun and loving, had hardened to take on the role of a leader. Beast Boy was the least changed; he was still childish and immature, but he had learned when to take the situation seriously. Kid Flash could plainly see that Robin's disappearance had shaken them deeply. He would never forget the looks of grief and anger on their faces when the discovered that Deathstroke and Slade were the same person. But most of all he would never forget the hope. They dared to hope because Slade wanted Robin as his apprentice, not to viciously murder him. Raven seemed to be the least optimistic of the group; she was skeptical because her and Robin's connection could only be broken by death.

When they arrived at the pizza place, they had quite a bit of trouble convincing the young manager that Beast Boy was not actually contagious. Though she didn't seem convinced, she still led them to a nice red table on the balcony. Cyborg and Beast Boy immediately began their quarrel over the pizza toppings. All the while, Starfire looked at the menu and suggested that they get a cinnamon dough pizza with peaches, applesauce, and hot dogs on it. Raven gazed at them all, quietly irritated, almost as if she couldn't believe they were having that fight again. Setting down the menu, Kid Flash watched them go at it for a while. Then he switched to listening to Starfire ramble on about the toppings she would like. He was pretty sure half of them weren't even on the menu.

"Enough," Raven growled. "Why don't we just all order a slice of pizza with toppings of our choosing?"

Cyborg stared at her. "That's crazy! Is there something wrong with you?"

"Apparently so."

A few minutes later, the waitress returned with their drinks. In the end, Kid Flash ordered a vegan pizza for him and Beast Boy to share. Sure, it wasn't his favorite, but it replenished his calories and got the job done. Cyborg had gotten a three layer meat pizza with bacon, sausage, and pepperoni, which he was sharing with the girls. Starfire had ordered a side of cottage cheese which she smothered over her slices of pizza. Overall it was a very strange scene, but it was normal in their books. Glancing around, Kid Flash got a good look at the pizzeria. The floor was tiled yellow and the tables were painted red.

"Is this a piece of pizza?" Kid Flash asked, gesturing to the balcony. "Man, that's cheesy."

Laughter burst from Beast Boy's mouth. "I see what you did there!"

No one else joined in. kid Flash stirred his straw in his glass of water and sipped it. Gazing out over the empty street, he attempted to count the number of cameras left behind on the pavement, but he lost count after forty-six because his mind was too active. Normally his uncle kept him updated with all things involved with finding Robin. But he had no clue what was going on Gotham. One thing was for sure: Batman was hiding something. Kid Flash clenched his fists. Batman was lying to them. The speedster was furious. Batman was interfering with his own damn investigation!

Calming himself slightly, Kid Flash turned back to the Titans, who were merrily eating their pizza. For the first time he realized why Speedy wanted to keep them out of everything. They were so innocent. The Titans had not seen the unspeakable horrors that some other heroes had seen. They had never held someone in their arms and watched them die. Their hands had not been stained with blood, and they had not seen the life leave a person's eyes like a light switch going off. Kid Flash intended to keep it that way. The Titans were innocent, they had not seen the things he had. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure they stayed pure, even if it meant excluding them from the investigation of their missing teammate. His stomach twisted in a painful knot. He had a terrible feeling that things were going to get messy, that blood was going to be shed.

"Did you guys see anything strange while you were in Gotham?" Kid Flash asked suddenly.

Raven glared at him for a second. "Other than a grown man dressing in a bat suit?"

He rolled his eyes, but he glanced around before continuing. "I mean around the manor."

Starfire nodded. "Yes, the Wayne Manor was quite large and Mr. Wayne had numerous possessions."

"Who all lived there?"

Cyborg gave him a weird look. "Just Bruce Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth. Why?"

"I just remember Robin saying something about having a cat," Kid Flash lied.

"Oh!" Starfire exclaimed. "I very much enjoy those warm bundles of fur! What was its name?"

"Oh….umm…Selina." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, ig got to run. It's been great hanging with you guys. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just give me a call and I will be here in-"

"If you say 'in a flash', I will hang you from the ceiling by your toenails and eat a whole pizza in front of you," Raven interrupted.

Kid Flash grinned. "Fair enough. Well, if you ever need anything, I'll be here in anything but a flash."

And then he was gone.


	27. Unwanted Answers

_Once again, I am deeply sorry. I hope that this chapter will make up for it, as some serious shit goes down near the end of it._

* * *

Dick was exhausted. He had spent the whole day training, only breaking for lunch. Every muscle in his body ached as if it were being dipped into the fiery depths of Hell. Even the tiniest of movements shot searing pain through his limbs. But with every ache and pain came a reward; he had beaten his own time of forty-three seconds in taking down a robot. Dick could easily bench 350, so naturally he pushed his limits and bumped it up to 415. Throughout his long day he had taken to throwing knives. He was even better with them than he was with bird-a-rangs. After much persuasion, Dick had even convinced Wintergreen to take him out to shoot. A favorite gun of his was the Barrett 50 cal. He had stood at the weeping willow and shot crab apples on a tree at the other end of the yard. Dick loved seeing them explode like a firework in his scope.

Slade would have been proud if he had been there. The man had disappeared before Dick had even woken up. Wintergreen had not uttered a word about Slade's absence. It was almost like he had never existed. Dick knew not to press the old man for details, but curiosity nagged at him. Where did Slade disappear to? Why did he leave? Dick sighed; there was so much about Slade he didn't know. He wished the man would open up, at least a little. How was he supposed to place his trust in the hands of someone he hardly knew? It wasn't that Dick didn't trust Slade, he most definitely did. It just didn't seem right that Slade knew everything about him, save for his clothing size, and he knew nothing about Slade. Would Slade hide things from him forever? Wasn't a partnership supposed to be built on trust and loyalty? True, Dick had proved his trust when he chose not to leave the house while Slade and Wintergreen were away, and Slade had returned the favor by giving him a keycard. But why not take the next step?

July had rolled in like a wave on the beach. The sun was hot and threatened to scorch all below. A slight breeze would occasionally pass through, but not enough to cool someone down. The sun had disappeared over the horizon for the day and the stars had come out, sparkling like a million tiny diamonds in the sky. Dick was sprawled in the grass, stretched out as far as his limbs would reach. His blue eyes scanned the equally blue night sky for constellations. He loved lying under the domed heavens, it reminded him of how small he actually was. He idly wondered if there was some young boy on another planet doing exactly what he was. Seeing the stars reminded him that he was not alone.

Closing his eyes, Dick let the sounds of the night fill him. Crickets chirped and the night life stirred. If Dick would have melted like a wax candle right then and there, he wouldn't have cared. Opening his eyes, he resumed gazing at the stars. The sky stretched over the earth like a silk blanket. Dick vaguely remembered that the ancient Romans used to believe that the sky was a blanket draped over the mountains in the four corners of the earth. A warm breeze drifted through the air, ruffling Dick's hair. He felt like everything was at peace in the world. He couldn't have had a more perfect day; two days, actually, as it was well past midnight. For a moment he thought about asking Wintergreen if he could sleep outside, but he quickly the thought knowing the answer would be no. He wasn't tired, not one bit, but he knew that Slade and Wintergreen would get on his case about not sleeping. Dick laughed a little, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was tired.

A few bats flew overhead, twisting and turning in the air like an aerialist. They had probably come out for the night to hunt for food. Dick was up on his feet and walking back to the house before he even knew it. Lights shone from inside the sliding glass door and onto the green grass of the yard. From where he stood, Dick could see Wintergreen nodding off in his chair with a newspaper lying in his lap. Dick smiled a bit at that. Not everyone was accustomed to his strange sleeping patterns. Climbing the stairs of the porch, he glanced over his shoulder once more at the empty yard.

Pulling open the door, he stepped into the cool house and closed the door behind him. Moving to the counter he found a bottle of ZQuil waiting for him. In the end Dick ended up having to confess his insomnia to Slade and Wintergreen. ZQuil was unfortunately their only solution. The over the counter drug did little to nothing for him. He still had long sleepless nights and the occasional nightmare. Dick had actually taken to sleeping on the floor, as it helped a little. Pouring himself the correct amount of medicine, he drank it and put it back in its correct cabinet. Walking to the divider of the kitchen and living room, Dick peered in and cleared his throat to announce his presence. Wintergreen twitched and looked up at him, the newspaper sliding off his lap.

"I'm going to bed," Dick told him.

"Did you take your medicine?"

He nodded. "It doesn't work very well, but who knows? Tonight might be the night."

Wintergreen smiled. "At least one of us will get some sleep."

"You're not going to bed?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm staying up and waiting for Slade."

"Is everything all right? Where is he?" Dick asked.

The old man's eyes shone with sadness. "That's nothing you have to concern yourself with. Now get some rest. You'll have a long day tomorrow." He glanced at his watch and corrected himself. "Today."

Dick wanted to pry further, but knew not to. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned over his keycard absentmindedly. Wishing Wintergreen a good night, he turned on his heel and made his way to the hallway. His mind wandered just as his feet did. What could Slade be doing at such an ungodly hour? Dick grimaced and erased that thought from his mind; he honestly didn't want to know. Turning into his bedroom, he flicked on the light. The inky blackness was replaced with illuminating light. Pulling his shirt off, he inspected the bruises on his sides, all of which were from the day's training. Slipping off his pants, Dick quickly grabbed a set of night clothes from his dresser and changed into them. Tightening the drawstring on his pajama bottoms, Dick rolled his eyes. Did Slade and Wintergreen think he was a sumo wrestler?

Walking across the room, Dick turned off hid light and made his way to his spot on the floor. Pulling the blanket over himself, Dick eased his head onto his arm and closed his eyes. Sometimes, if he listened really hard, he could hear crickets chirping outside of his room. But he heard nothing that night except for a faint ringing sound in his ears. Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling and watched as it seemingly grew darker and when he would shift his eyes the darkness would dissipate. Rolling onto his back, Dick threw an arm over his eyes and inwardly groaned. Why in the world couldn't he sleep? There was nothing his mind was dwelling on at all. So why couldn't he sleep?

His mind ran hundreds of miles away, to Gotham City. What was Bruce doing? Was he still looking for him? Or did Batman and the whole League think him dead? Anger swelled inside of him like a volcano ready to blow. Dick doubted that Bruce even cared that he was gone. He had been out of the man's life for years. Dick grumbled and moved into a more comfortable position, trying not to think about Bruce. The very thought of his former mentor filled him with anger. Ignoring his lingering thoughts, Dick attempted to get his mind to focus on something, anything else. He really didn't want to think about where Slade was because if he did his detective side would poke through and it could make Slade or Wintergreen angry.

After what seemed like hours Dick finally fell into a restless, nightmare plagued sleep. Dark images flashed behind his eyelids; each new picture struck fear into his heart like a hammer pounding a nail into a plank of wood. The dream—no, the nightmare—had started where his life ended: under the big top. Dick watched his parents fall to their deaths, but instead of looks of shock their faces were stretched into insane smiles. All the clowns, every performer, every audience member's face was morphed into the Joker's. Greasy green hair sprung from their heads like wild grass, and their irises turned blood red. Laughter filled the tent as the Graysons took their final dive. Dick even found himself laughing. Then he was on his knees beside their lifeless bodies, watching their blood seep into the ground. Behind him he heard Bruce telling him it was all his fault.

"Apprentice!"

The scene shifted and Dick found himself lying on a cold floor, staring at the divided face of Two-Face. A bloody baseball bat was raised above the villain's head, and he sneered down at the young boy cowering at his feet. Dick remembered the memory well, but he wished he could forget. He remembered the way he had cried at the crazy man's feet as he beat the everliving daylights out of him. He remembered Two-Face's eye filled with bloodlust while Harvey Dent's eye begged him for forgiveness. But most of all he remembered how Batman had just watched as he had been beaten within an inch of his life.

"Dick!"

Fire was all that Dick saw. Thirty foot flames sprouted from the windows and doorway of the yellow brick house. Tears sprung to his eyes as he literally watched the last several months of his life go up in flames. He didn't know how, but somehow he knew that Wintergreen and Slade were trapped inside. His heart pumped wildly in his chest like it couldn't get enough blood to his brain for it to comprehend what was going on. And then it hit him like a punch to the face. Dick began to run towards the house, ready to save both, but with every step he took he seemed to get further away. It was like he was running on a never ending treadmill. A scream of anguish tore from his throat as the house began to collapse in on itself. The fear that shook him to his very core seemed so real that he could no longer tell if he was vividly dreaming or if he was living a horrid reality.

"Richard!"

Dick's eyes flew open and he frantically looked around the room for something or someone that wasn't there. He thought his heart was going to explode in a mess of blood and gore from how hard and fast it was pumping. His hair was slick with sweat that ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Dick felt like he had a hundred pound weight sitting on his chest, slowly letting the oxygen out of his lungs. Gulping lungful after lungful of air, he patted his chest to make sure nothing heavy was actually sitting on it. Slowly sitting up, Dick rested his head on the edge of his bed and tried to calm his racing heart. His blanket was tangled around his ankles. A nice hot shower would do him some good.

"_Richard!"_

Dick was immediately on his feet and running towards the door. He knew not to ask questions when he was called, but to go straight to the source, and Slade was calling him. Dick realized that he sounded angry, very angry. With one glance at his digital alarm clock, he knew it was around 4:30 in the morning, a little earlier than when Wintergreen normally woke him, but not by much. Reaching the door, he attempted to yank it open, but to no avail. Dick swore under his breath, realizing he must have closed the door. Giving it a couple more tugs, he gave up and ran to his pants that lay abandoned on the floor. Savagely tearing the keycard out of the pocket, he rushed back to the locked door and began working on it. He gently traced the crack of the door with the card, trying to find the magic spot. His hands shook as he worked and perspiration rolled down his skin like raindrops. Except he enjoyed rain and he was not enjoying anything about his current situation.

Just as Dick was about to shimmy the door, he heard heavy footfalls coming down the hallway. The footsteps only caused Dick to work faster and to lose his place. The door swung open with a loud bang as it bounced off the wall and ricocheted against Dick's forehead. Before Dick could regain his bearings, he was kicked savagely in the guy and all the air in his lungs escaped him. Scrambling to his feet, Dick threw a blind punch in the general direction the kick had come from, only to have his fist caught and twisted painfully behind his back. Dick tried to ignore the blinding pain as he tried to free himself. There was something different about this fight. His arm felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

Slade's punches were swift and vicious, yet they were sloppy, at least for Slade. Dick felt a blow land on the left side of his face; it was hard and he wouldn't have been surprised if the tender flesh had already begun bruising. There was no doubt in his mind that Slade was not holding back. The man was giving his all and Dick could hardly dodge, let alone get a punch in. What was going on? Why in the world was Slade attacking him out of the blue? Ducking away from a punch, Dick lunged for Slade's legs only to find himself on the other side of the room with his vision swimming and his head throbbing. He could make out the form of Slade walking towards him, but before he had the chance to crawl away, Slade picked him up by the front of his shirt and held him against the wall.

"You come to me when you are called, understand?"

Slade's voice was like the hiss of a snake. It was low and menacing. Dick almost expected the man to turn into a deadly viper. But there was something else. Slade had leaned in to whisper to him, and when he did so, Dick had smelled a foul odor that had made his sense of smell want to commit suicide. Dick had smelled alcohol. It was very faint, almost nonexistent, but it was still there. Dick was confused; Slade didn't seem intoxicated, but his labored movement spoke for itself. Slade was not drunk, nor was he sober. He was lost somewhere in the delirium in between. If he moved carefully and worked swiftly, Dick could probably take down the man fairly easily. Anger radiated off of him like heat, and Dick was truly scared for his own safety. He did not want to go back to the beatings; he thought they had moved past that.

Ever so slowly, Dick began to raise his legs. Then in one motion he planted his feet on Slade's chest and pushed him away. For a moment Slade was surprised, but only for a moment. He made a grab for Dick, but the boy jumped out of the way, and in turn, crashing into the nightstand. Scrambling over the bed, Dick rushed for the door, only to have his hair caught in Slade's fist. Seizing the man's wrist, Dick squeezed until he let go and then he twisted Slade's arm behind his back like he had done to Dick so many times before. Taking a deep breath, Dick felt all his fear melt away like the last snow of winter. He was not afraid of Slade. His newfound courage allowed him to force Slade onto his knees.

Then Wintergreen was there, pulling Dick out of the room. The old man's eyes showed a mixture of worry, fear, and grief. Dick immediately wanted to interrogate him, but he was too busy being pulled down the hall by his wrist to ask any questions. Upon leaving the room, Wintergreen had slammed the door shut, a futile attempt to lock Slade in. Dick shivered as he heard the splitting of wood and the sound of the door coming off its hinges, but he did not dare to look. As he and Wintergreen advanced down the hallway, it seemed to grow longer and narrower like a never ending nightmare. For a second, Dick believed that he _was_ dreaming. But his jaw throbbed, painfully reminding him that he was indeed awake.

Finally reaching the end of the hallway, Wintergreen pushed Dick into the kitchen, past the table, and towards the sliding glass door. Shoving the boy against the glass panel, Wintergreen used his own body to shield him. Fear didn't settle in until Dick had seen how scared Wintergreen was. Reaching for his keycard, he cursed, realizing that it was on his bedroom floor. Dick felt his heart skip a beat as Slade's face appeared around the corner. Slade began to slink towards the two of them like a lion stalking its prey. Wintergreen pressed Dick closer to the door with every step Slade took. All the while, Slade's eye never left Dick's face.

"Sir, please," Wintergreen tried to reason. "None of this is his fault."

Slade glared at him. "He did not come when he was called. He resisted when-"

"When what? When you were attempting to beat him?" the old man spat. "He was not intentionally trying to disobey you. He was locked in his room and could not get out."

Slade's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he forgot about Dick momentarily. "Where's the phone?"

"You are _not _calling Addie."

Dick broke away from Wintergreen and stepped into the no man's land in between the two men. "What the hell is going on?"

With a sigh, Slade moved to the table, sat down, and folded his hands in front of him. Dick then got the impression that he was to also sit down. With an unsure glance at Wintergreen, who nodded in approval, Dick pulled out a chair and sat down across from Slade. Crossing his arms over his chest, he felt defiant, and he felt like he deserved to break some rules. That is why he had cussed, and much to his surprise no one had cared. If he had had pockets, he would have shoved his hands in them. But he didn't, so he crossed his arms instead. Two hands rested on his shoulders and gave him a reassuring a squeeze before falling back to the sides of their owner. Dick's face was set in a scowl that would make Batman jealous, as he glared at Slade. He wanted answers.

"The boy deserves an explanation," Wintergreen said.

"I just want the phone to-"

"I will not let you harass the poor woman. She is in just as much pain as you are."

Dick raised an eyebrow and perked up a little at the last statement, suddenly very interested in the conversation. Slade? In pain? That was unheard of. But surely enough, when his eyes scanned the man's face he found pain there. Not the kind of pain that could be seen by the naked eye, but the kind that could only be seen by someone who had experienced it themselves. Slade had buried his pain deep. It was like a wound that had scarred over, but never fully healed. Dick's face softened and he relaxed his shoulders. He was all too familiar with the pain Slade was feeling. He wanted to help the man, he really did, but how could he help someone he hardly knew? Dick decided he would try to help in any way he could; he would just have to use his limited prior knowledge to try and fill up the empty file of Slade stored in his brain. Craning his neck, he stared up at Wintergreen.

"And calling _Addie_ would be a bad thing?"

The old man nodded vigorously.

Taking a deep breath, Dick again faced Slade. "I don't need an explanation. I forgive you for attacking me. I'll think of it as extra practice."

"No," Slade said.

"What?"

"No," Slade repeated. "You deserve to know what is going on."

"You really don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

"No, I brought you into this. You are part of my life now. I trust you. No more secrets."

Dick nodded, accepting Slade's words. "Who did you lose?"

Slade stared at his hands for a while before answering. "Everything, everyone. I had an apprentice before Terra, before you. He died young, too young. He was only a boy. He was younger than you his name was Ravager, but to me he was Grant Wilson."

"Your son," Dick rasped.

"I had a wife and two sons, and I ruined it all. Grant died as my apprentice, and Joey, my youngest son, got his throat slit because of me."

"You- you lost both of your sons?"

"No, Grant died, but Joey's vocal cords were cut. He will be a mute for the rest of his life."

Dick frowned, afraid to ask his next question. "What happened to your wife?"

Slade smirked. "Addie wasn't very docile. When she found out I was a mercenary, she shot my eye out with my own gun and forbid me from ever seeing Joey again."

Wintergreen sighed. "Sir, I highly suggest that you get some sleep."

Dick watched as Slade stood up from his spot and Wintergreen helped him down the hallway. When they were out of sight, Dick rested his head in his hands and let the conversation roll over in his mind. Slade had lost _everything, _just like he had. They weren't so different, him and Slade. They had both lost their families and everything important to them. Dick felt his eyes get wet, but he ignore his tears. He was crying for Mary and John Grayson, for Grant, Joey, and Addie, and for himself and Slade. And there it was; he knew about Slade's past, but he now wished he didn't.

* * *

_I just have a lot of feelings about Slade and the entire Wilson family. Also, Slade/Addie= actual OTP. Okay, that's a bit of a stretch, but I still ship it a lot. I could probably go on and on about how fantastic and badass Addie is, but The Walking Dead comes back tonight and I have tons of crap to get together before then._


	28. Gordon's Accusation

_First off, I am indeed aware that I have not updated in almost a month. For the millionth time, I give my sincerest apology. I'm legitimately trying to get these chapters out faster, but it just never happens. Second, this chapter may be confusing for readers without much knowledge of the comics. But I'll explain at the end of the chapter so as to keep it a surprise. Though I'm sure a lot of you will probably get what's going on pretty quickly._

* * *

The boy stood with his back against the hard grainy wall and with his slender yet muscular arms crossed over his chest. His green eyes swept over the cavern, taking everything in, but still not seeing everything. Every time he came down he was able to pick out something different that he had not seen in his previous visits. A few bats fluttered among the stalactites, waking from their long day of resting, each ready for a long night of stalking their prey. A shiny copper penny loomed in one corner while other trophies pale in comparison to it. The cave was dark and damp. It smelled of moist earth that intoxicated the boy with its rich stench. The only source of light was from cases that held rows of uniforms and from the large computer that illuminated the figure sitting before it.

The boy scoffed at the figure huddled before the computer like a vampire cowering from the light. On the bright computer screen was a picture of a one-eyed masked man that seemed to stare straight into his soul. He shivered slightly; even as a picture Deathstroke was still a creep. He hated Deathstroke. The mercenary was the cause of all his misery. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his nerves. Deathstroke wasn't the cause of his pain and neglect. Golden Boy was. However, Deathstroke and Golden Boy seemed to be intertwined in some undecided fate. Get rid of one end and then the other will be out of his hair. Like a swarm of bees; if the queen is killed, the rest would commit suicide. He just had to find the queen bee.

Frowning, the boy raised his blue eyes to study the man at the computer. Bruce had only returned from the Watchtower an hour prior to when the boy entered. Upon his return, he had gone to work, searching for the missing Boy Wonder. The boy paid that no mind. He needed to find the queen bee. It seemed as though Deathstroke held all the cards. He had Golden Boy in his grasp, and he had the whole JLA on his tail. In a way, the boy admired the deadly mercenary. He was strong and smart. Who else could evade the Justice League for so long? The teenager grimaced. But why go after Golden Boy, the partner of Batman? To anyone it seemed plain; Deathstroke loved living on the edge. However, to him it seemed that there was a deeper motive. He eyed the computer monitor and idly wondered if he could conveniently spill coffee over the circuits and destroy all the information on Deathstroke. That would keep Golden Boy out of the picture, at least for a little while.

Turning on his heel, he entered the dimly lit elevator that would take him back to the surface of Wayne Manor. When he reached the top, the boy stuffed his hands in his pockets and wandered out of the large grandfather clock. Running a hand through his black hair, he attempted to mess it up, for he hated the slicked back style Alfred had condemned him to. Closing the clock, he walked from the sitting room into the main hall. Outside, the sun was setting and twilight had settled over the city, turning everything a warm orange. But he knew looks could be deceiving; Gotham was a dangerous city, no matter how peaceful it looked. He knew that from years of living on the streets. Taking a seat at the bottom of the grand staircase, he laced up his shoes and looked around to make sure no one was watching. Hesitantly standing up, he made a move for the front door.

"And where do you think you're going, Master Todd?"

Jason cringed and turned to face Alfred. "Just out to the gardens for some fresh air."

The old butler frowned in disapproval. "You and I both know that is as big of a lie as Bruce Wayne being an ordinary, billionaire playboy." Alfred paused. "I believe a punishment is in order. A week's worth of dusting sounds suitable."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "You can't do that."

"I can, and I have," Alfred stated. "Come help me set the table for dinner."

"Can't we eat in the living room like normal people?"

"Since when has anyone who has lived under this roof been normal?"

"Can't we _pretend_?"

Alfred chuckled. "The china and silver is in the cupboard in the dining room."

Jason sighed and trudged towards the dining hall. He hadn't bothered to take his shoes off because he was angry at Alfred. Although, tracking mud through the house was hardly a punishment, for Jason was sure Alfred actually enjoyed cleaning. Grumbling as he went, he entered the dining room and yanked open the cabinet, not caring if any of the fine china got broken in the process. Pulling out the plates, he set two spots, knowing Bruce would not join them. Jason had never seen Alfred eat, so he didn't set a place for him, but he knew that the old man would get on his case if he didn't set one for the man of the house. Taking the silver from its padded wooden case, he arranged it nicely around the plates and stepped back to admire his work.

Alfred entered the room a few minutes later. His arms were piled high with silver platters filled with delicacies. Jason had to admit that no matter how angry he got at Alfred, his cooking would always be amazing. He was practically drooling by the time Alfred set the platters down. A wonderful smell filled the room, and Jason was surprised he didn't drown in his own saliva. When the food was uncovered, it took all of his willpower not to dive in face first. On the table sat a juicy roast beef that was practically falling apart before his eyes, buttery baked potatoes, and a bowl of green beans. Alfred began dishing out the food when a strange sound rose in his throat. For a moment Jason was concerned, but then he recognized it as the sound Alfred made when something was bothering him.

"The fork goes on the left by itself, Master Jason," Alfred said.

Jason rolled his eyes. "It makes more sense for the pointy objects to go together."

"Why is that?"

He thought for a second. "Say someone breaks into your house while you're eating, and you reach for the knife and accidentally grab the spoon?"

Alfred sighed. "Point taken. When you have your own house and family, you may set the table the way you want. For now you live in this house and I would prefer if you set the table the right way. I've grown tired of this, honestly; this is the seventh time you have done it. Master Dick learned after his first time."

Jason clenched his fists. "Are you going to start comparing me to him too? Because I get enough of that from Bruce."

"I suggest you watch your language," Alfred scolded. "Now let's talk about this like _civilized _people."

Grimacing, Jason sat down at the table; he had nothing more to say to Alfred. Shoveling a forkful of potatoes in his mouth, he ignored the old butler as he tried to get him to talk. Much to Jason's delight he gave up after a while and disappeared into the kitchen.

The boy stared at Bruce's unoccupied seat and then stared at his own in return. Had that been where Dick sat when he lived at the manor? Jason scowled, not wanting to think about it. Dick was the favorite first child that would always receive a bigger portion of Bruce's heart. While Jason was the forgotten second child, who was a sorry little boy compared to the first. Jason hated Dick, though he had never met him and never wished to. Anything Jason could do, Dick could do ten times better, and Bruce never failed to remind him of that.

Night had finally fallen over the dismal city. It wouldn't be long until the creeps and thugs crawled out of their hellholes like the bugs they were, and attempted to rule the streets. A yellow batsignal glittered across the Gotham skyline. Finishing the last of his meal, Jason let his mind ponder on what the problem may have been. He hoped that the Joker had broken out of Arkham again. Jason was dying for some action, though Bruce didn't let him handle anything more than petty thieves and thugs. According to Alfred, he was just supposed to be a myth for the time being. The way Jason saw it was that he was just a cover for Dick. Be seen and not heard. Scratch that, he was hardly allowed to be seen. After all, he was a myth.

Glancing at the kitchen door, Jason stood up and grabbed Bruce's plate. He exited the dining room and made his way towards the entrance to the Batcave. The whole time he tried to come up with a reason for Bruce to take him on patrol. What was the point? Batman had gone without a Robin for years. Why would he need one all of a sudden? Jason was ready to punch somebody's lights out by the time he reached the grandfather clock and turned the hands in the correct direction. He was so ready to go on patrol. Entering the elevator, Jason tapped his foot the whole way down. Once in the cave he nearly screamed in rage. Bruce was gone and the Batmobile was missing. Why would he wait up for him?

Jason sat Bruce's plate near the computer and sat down in the leather chair that very act seemed to fill him with power. His eyes fell on the Redbird. He could have taken it for a spin, but he didn't feel like facing Bruce's wrath. Newspaper clippings littered the desk in front of the monitor, all of which had been taken from Dick's office in the Titans Tower. Deathstroke's cold eye glared up at him and he had to turn over several of the clippings. Jason reached forward and grabbed a large evidence bag that contained Deathstroke's cracked mask. Apparently the mask contained a chemical reagent that made whoever inhaled it see things. Jason didn't really know the details. From what he saw, Dick was obsessed with Deathstroke. The idiot probably wanted to get kidnapped. Leaning back in the chair, Jason wondered if Golden Boy was alive. It wouldn't make a difference to him if he was or not.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon fumbled with his match, willing the damn thing to light. A cigarette hung from his loose lips and a dozen buds smoked to the stump littered the rooftop. His pipe lay abandoned on the concrete ledge. Finally getting the coffin nail lit, he took a long breath and exhaled the smoke. Placing his hands on the ledge, he leaned forward and gazed up at the starless sky. The night was warm and seemingly peaceful, but Gordon knew all of that could change in a matter of seconds. Somehow he knew it wouldn't be long until one of the loonies escaped from the asylum. Jim furrowed his brow; come to think of it, it had been months since any major tragedies had happened. It was almost as if all the villains knew something terrible had happened in Batman's life, and they all knew to stay away. Sometimes the commissioner wondered how he managed to get tied into that crazy life, but looking back he could never remember. That was the life he led, and that was all that mattered.

Taking another puff of his cigarette, Gordon couldn't remember the last time he had one. He laughed bitterly; actually, he could. It was when Harvey Dent confessed to the murder of Robin. Blowing out a lungful of smoke, Gordon gazed down at the street where a young couple walked. He wanted to scream at them to get home, but refrained from doing so. It was useless. Didn't they know that Gotham was a dangerous place during the day, let alone night? For a moment Jim watched the embers burn a bright red at the end of his cigarette. Then he flicked the ashes away and placed the cancer stick back to his laps. Turning forward, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he found himself face to face with the one and only Dark Knight.

Batman plucked the cigarette from Commissioner Gordon's mouth and extinguished it beneath his boot. Gordon immediately studied the man's face; it was set in a scowl and his eyes glared right through him. To most that was his default facial expression, but the commissioner could see the worry and pain etched deep within his face like it was set in stone. Turning away, he pulled a pack of cigarettes, but instead of grabbing another coffin nail he tossed the whole pack over the ledge. Damn the littering laws, he had more important things to worry about. Gordon once again leaned against the edge of the wall and looked out over the city.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Robin is alive."

"Which one?" Gordon snapped. "The boy in knew, or this new one you pulled out of your ass?"

Batman was silent for a moment. "Both."

Something clicked in Jim's brain. "Was this all a scam?"

Batman actually sounded surprised. "What?"

"When Robin was shot by the Joker and took that fall, the media pronounced him dead. After speaking with you, you assured me that he was not, but you said that 'Robin' should be left dead. Is that what you're doing now? Is the boy safe and sound somewhere?"

"No, Robin is still in his captor's clutches."

Gordon swung around, his trench coat fluttering behind him. By that point Batman had moved away to turn off the batsignal. The commissioner was about to explode like a bomb from anger. His whole body was like a live wire as his hands clenched at his sides and his eyes blazed. Seldom did he lose his temper, but Gordon seemed to have a short fuse when it came to children, especially Robin. Jim had watched the boy grow into the person he was. He had been there when Robin made his first appearance, and he had been there when he had departed Gotham for Jump. Truth be told, Gordon was rather fond of the boy. Robin was like a favorite nephew to him. Crossing the rooftop he did not hesitate to get in Batman's face. He jabbed a finger into the Dark Knight's chest and sneered up at him. It was a wonder that he wasn't foaming from the mouth.

"Then how the hell do you know he's alive?" Jim snarled. "Was there ransom? An exchange? Proof of life?"

"No," Batman said. "A few months ago the JLA received video footage in which we saw Robin being reabducted after he escaped."

"_Months_?" he asked. "A lot can change in a couple of months."

"Robin is alive."

"If you say so," Gordon grumbled. "Isn't he your son or something?"

"Biologically, no."

Another flare of anger shot through the police commissioner. How could Batman say that Robin was not his son? It wasn't as if he could go to Rent-A-Kid and ask one of them to be his sidekick. Hell, Barbara wasn't his biological daughter, but she was still his daughter. It wasn't blood that made people family, but the ties that bind. Couldn't Batman see it? Gordon calmed himself; he didn't know Batman's past, he couldn't be quick to judge. Shoving his hands in his coat pockets, he sighed and let his mind move onto the second Boy Wonder. Who was he? Was _he _Batman's son? Gordon shook his head. Children had no business in adult affairs. It would not be long until someone got killed.

"What about this new kid?"

"He was a troubled child living on the streets. I showed him a new path."

Gordon frowned. "He's the first one's replacement. That's why you're keeping him hidden?"

Batman just scowled. "He is _not _a replacement. I did this for his own good. He started his training before Robin was kidnapped."

"Then why is he so secret? He's just a folk tale in the media's eyes."

"To keep them guessing, to cover for Robin's kidnapping and to protect his identity."

"So you're using him?"

Batman gritted his teeth. "You think I knew Robin was going to get abducted?"

Gordon sighed. "I guess not. But I am going to say what I said before. If any harm should befall this boy, I will drop on you from a great height."

* * *

Alfred was waiting for Jason when he stepped out of the block and back into the mansion. The old butler wore a frown and there was a disapproving glint in his eyes. In that moment Jason knew that their conversation from earlier was by no means over. He inwardly cringed; why had he said those things? He didn't want Alfred hovering over him like a helicopter parent. Then again, having Alfred around wasn't so bad. It reminded him that at least one of his parents cared. Bruce was always too busy chasing after Golden Boy and Deathstroke to remember the new addition to the family. Jason didn't crave attention from Alfred, but it was nice to be noticed from time to time. Crossing his arms, Jason glared at the butler, not quite willing to talk.

"Would you like to talk, Master Jason?"

"No," he said shortly.

"You seemed to have something to say at supper," Alfred pried. "Come now, you know that you can tell me anything."

Jason wanted to go off in a rage. He wanted to tear through the house like a tornado and destroy everything in his path. His mind told him to run and get out of there, but his feet refused to move. Deep down Jason felt something jerk; he wanted to talk, he wanted to express his hatred for Dick Grayson, the favorite son. Somehow Jason knew that wouldn't go over well with Alfred. The old butler would side with Golden Boy and he would scold Jason for hating someone he had never met. How could he hate him? Because he was perfect in every way, shape, and form, at least in Bruce's eyes. He rolled his eyes; sibling rivalry. Jason's blood boiled; no, Golden Boy would never be his brother. He would die before admitting that they were adopted brothers.

"I just don't like being compared to Golden Boy."

"Golden Boy?"

Busted. "Dick. I am not him."

Alfred's face softened. "No one said you were."

"Bruce wants me to be him," Jason said bitterly.

"Surely you don't believe that."

"Surely I do!" he snapped. "'_Dick would have executed that move much better. Dick would have hacked the motion sensors faster. Dick would have set the silverware right. Dick would have done that differently. Dick was better than you.' _Newsflash! I'm not Dick! I don't want to be Dick!"

"Master Jason-"

"Don't 'Master Jason' me! You're almost as bad as Bruce!" Jason huffed. "I still can't believe that you, Bruce, and the Justice League are wasting precious time looking for a dead guy. Time that could be better spent."

"Excuse me?" Alfred gasped.

"You heard me." Jason snarled. "He is dead. D-E-A-D. Dick is _dead_! He is never coming back! You and Bruce need to get out of fantasy land and realize that! Golden Boy is gone!"

"Go to your room."

Alfred had not yelled, but Jason wished he had. His voice was low and dangerous. A tone the boy had never heard him take on. It was laced with venom, anger, and nearly undetectable grief. Jason was honestly scared. The icy hand of fear gripped his heart and squeezed tight. He knew not to argue with Alfred at that point because it was useless. Instead he turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Hot, salty tears welled in his eyes and threatened to spill over. Furiously wiping them away, Jason let out a cry of pure rage. Alfred had been his only hope. He was supposed to understand, but instead he got mad. Alfred always understood. He had understood the grief and anger he had felt when he had been pulled off of the streets. Why could he not understand Jason's hatred toward Dick?

Jason ran down the east wing hallway in search of his bedroom. He often found himself lost within Wayne Manor, but he found his room relatively easily. Once inside he slammed the door behind him and locked it. God, he needed nicotine. Moving to his bed, he reached between the mattress and produced a pack of cigarettes and hastily tore it open. Removing one, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it up. Crawling onto his bed, Jason took a long hit and blew a ring of smoke. Bruce had made him quit smoking when he moved in, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. It wasn't long until his doorknob rattled and a knock came. Alfred insisted on being let in, but Jason wouldn't budge.

"Master Jason," Alfred called through the door. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"If you really feel upset, then we must talk."

"Upset?" Jason scoffed. "No, upset was when I didn't get invited to Christmas dinner. I'm just plain pissed now."

"You know as well as I do that you _were_ invited to Christmas dinner," Alfred reminded him. "The dinner was meant to introduce you to the League, and for you and Dick to finally meet. The whole thing was a surprise for Master Bruce. As you can see, things didn't go as planned."

"What about when the Titans came? I got kicked out of the house."

"You did not."

"No, you're right. Bruce told me it was a big house, get lost."

"Master Todd-"

"I'm done talking."

Alfred left after a few minutes. Jason was seething with anger. He felt like he was going to go off like a firecracker. Why didn't anyone understand him? Flicking his ashes in cup full of water, Jason took another drag of his cigarette. His eyes swept over his bureau where a million paper clippings had piled up. Jason had his own stash. Each clipping had a picture of Golden Boy staring into the camera. Jason was obsessed with finding out what made him so great. So far, he couldn't find anything. Reaching over, he extinguished his cigarette by rubbing it in the face of Golden Boy.

* * *

_Yes, Charlie has done it. She has brought in Jason Todd. For those of you unfamiliar with him, he was the second Robin. And he's also arguably the second biggest little shit in the Batfamily. If you really want to know more about Jason, you can just ask me. Or you could look him up on Google, which is probably more reliable. And for you already familiar with Jason, what did you guys think about his introduction?_


	29. Metropolis

Dick closed his eyes and pretended he was flying as the wind swept through his hair and salty water sprayed his face. The smell of the ocean filled him and he breathed it in. In his mind he pictured himself as a seagull soaring over a calm bay. The only thing that could have made that moment better would have been if he could hear the sea over the roar of the helicopter. Peeling his eyes open, he let them sweep over the cabin. Slade sat next to him, gazing out the open door, his short gray hair whipping around like a wild fire. The pilot was an older gentleman with soft brown eyes and gray hair with patches of brown. Dick didn't know his name, but he was very nice. Although, he asked too many questions and he worried about his safety. The only thing the pilot was concerned about was Dick. Since he had touched down in the backyard and Wintergreen had waved them off, the pilot had been watching Slade like a hawk.

The gun pressed between Dick's back and the seat was really bothering him, but he did not dare touch it for fear that it would fall out and the pilot would see it. He had been given direct orders from Slade not to communicate over the headphones unless he was remarking on the scenery or talking about how excited he was to go on vacation. The only way Dick was allowed to communicate was through sign language, if absolutely necessary. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dick fumbled with the handle of his knife and looked out the open door. The city's skyline was unmistakable as they approached land. Dick estimated that they had about fifteen minutes until they touched down, if that was indeed the city they were going to. His eyes narrowed as he watched the pilot reach forward and flip a couple switches.

The pilot's voice crackled in his ear. "How'd you get that scar, son?"

Dick unconsciously reached up and touched his right eye. "I got it in the car accident that killed my mom and took my dad's eye."

The man made a sympathetic noise. "You can tell me. He can't hear us."

Dick was growing impatient. "I'm telling you the truth, sir. I swear, if my dad was beating me I would have told someone by now."

The pilot sighed and flicked some more switches. "Five minutes till we are in Metropolis."

Frowning, Dick gazed at the city as they grew closet. He had been to the city a million times. How had he not recognized it? He knew it almost as well as Gotham and Jump. Shifting his gaze onto Slade, he chuckled slightly. Slade looked a little more than annoyed as he glared at the back of the pilot's head. The whole trip Slade had kept where they were going under wraps, and it had fallen easily into Dick's lap. His mind moved onto more important matters, such as why they were going to Metropolis. Dick was quite blind. When he had woken up that morning he had been unprepared for Wintergreen to have a suitcase packed for him and for there to be a helicopter in their backyard.

There was a slight bump as the helicopter landed in a private landing strip and the engines turned off. Taking off his headset, the pilot turned around and informed then that it was safe to unbuckle and move about. Dick slowly did so, all the while watching Slade in his peripheral vision, who did the same. The man dismissed Dick, and he hesitated for a second. The young acrobat felt sick to his stomach, like he had drunk a gallon of poison and had spent the last hour doing jumping jacks. His throat became slick with bile, but he swallowed it. Grabbing his suitcase, he sent one last worried glance at the pilot before nodding to Slade and hopping out of the helicopter. He walked away, his suitcase in tow, but the gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach wouldn't go away. Silently he scolded himself for being so weak, but deep down he knew it was his gut telling him what was going on. His head told him the facts, but his heart refused to believe it.

A car was parked a hundred feet away. It was sleek and black and appeared to be no more than a few years old. Its driver, on the other hand, did not match the car's charm. He was short and fat with a beer belly that could have been a full womb. Dick was half tempted to ask when the baby was due, but refrained from doing so. The driver wore a white t-shirt covered in grease and it was several sizes too small. He had a cigar hanging lazily out of his mouth and his bearded face was covered in grime. It seemed that he put on his best attire to come pick them up. In his hands was a sign that read 'Riker'. Dick marched toward him with his head bowed. He counts the rocks as he walked, keeping his mind busy so it wouldn't ponder on what was happening in the helicopter.

The greasy driver took Dick's suitcase and placed it in the trunk. The boy watched him the whole time, for he was unsure of what Wintergreen had packed. Leaving the trunk open the driver walked around the side of the car and climbed into the front seat. Hesitantly, Dick opened the passenger side backseat door and got in. He was relatively surprised to find that the car wasn't a mess, though the driver had no shame in showing his Glock 18 that sat on the dashboard. Dick almost laughed, but instead he gazed fearfully at the gun while the driver sneered at him with beady black eyes and yellow teeth. He just kept reminding himself that he had to play the part of an innocent kid. Something about the situation seemed vaguely familiar and then he was overwhelmed with the memory of being in the crashed taxi in Gotham. Casting a glance at the helicopter, Dick willed Slade to hurry up.

"Said there were two of you," the driver grunted.

"My dad is coming," Dick replied. "He's just tipping the pilot."

"He better tip well."

Dick didn't bother mentioning that the driver probably didn't want Slade's tip. He silently watched as the mercenary stepped out of the helicopter, dragging his suitcase behind him. Dick felt like his stomach was doing backflips as Slade approached the car. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Slade threw his suitcase in the car and slammed the trunk shut. The man slid into the backseat beside Dick and gave him a curt nod. The car began to roll away, but Dick found his eyes glued to the prone helicopter that would probably never move again unless Slade could fly it, or it got picked up by the police. He watched it until they had moved so far away that it disappeared. Then he began to spot out familiar landmarks and gazed at the people who walked down the street. It was funny; he didn't realize how much human contact he had been deprived of over the last seven and a half months. Maybe it was because he didn't crave it. Having Slade and Wintergreen around was enough for him. It was almost like life with Bruce and Alfred.

"So what are the plans for vacation, Dad?" Dick asked without removing his eyes from the window.

"I figured we would spend the rest of the day at the beach," Slade lied coolly, staring daggers at the driver. "But I have a meeting later."

Dick feigned hurt. "But you promised you wouldn't bring work with you!"

Sending a worried glance at the driver, Dick found that he was lost in his own little world. He had heard none of their well-acted out conversation. A meeting; they had a meeting to go to, but with who, and where? Dick shook his head and frowned. Slade was blunt, but by no means was he as blunt as Bruce. Dick had learned how to read the man's intentions and react in an appropriate way. He and Slade definitely made an excellent team, but that didn't mean he did not enjoy solitude. Dick was not stupid; he knew from the moment he had seen the helicopter in the backyard that Slade was going to finally take him on his first mission. However, he didn't know what the mission was or how the meeting tied into it, if at all. Excitement overwhelmed him, he was so ready to go on his first mission and prove himself to Slade.

The car slowed to a stop and Dick was pulled back into the present moment. Peering out the window, he blinked up at a tall building that stood on the corner of a busy street. It had a revolving door and a luggage cart sat on the sidewalk. A big blue and white sign read 'Hampton Inn'. Slade opened the door and climbed out of the car and Dick did likewise. The hot air hit the young acrobat like a slap to the face; he had not expected it to be that hot. Luckily Wintergreen had laid out cool clothes for him. Dick wore a pair of baggy jean shorts and a short sleeved, button down, green shirt. On his wrist was a black leather watch that could be used to video call Slade or Wintergreen, and in his ear was a comm that allowed the three to communicate without a video feed. Slade was dressed almost the same; he wore a nice black polo shirt and brown khaki pants. The driver popped the trunk and tossed them their suitcases. Slade had begun walking towards the inn and Dick followed him when the driver suddenly called out to him.

"Hey, what about my tip?"

Slade didn't even bother to turn around. "I was unsatisfied with your service."

"Bastard," the driver muttered under his breath. "I'll remember that next time you need anything from me. I swear I'll find some way to get back at you."

Slade chuckled softly, and they continued walking. Passing through the revolving door, Dick was struck with the intoxicating smell of chlorine. He loved the scent; it reminded him of good summer memories. The lobby of the hotel was massive. It had white tiled floors and a large wooden check-in desk to his left was a sitting area for weary travelers, and to his right was a dining bar where familiar could sit and enjoy meals. Beyond that was a stair base the led downward, a sign hung over it, indicating that the stairs led to the pool and gym. Beside the check-in desk was a large snack bar that sold everything from M&M's to Godiva chocolate bars. Parallel to the desk were three elevators with silver doors.

They proceeded to the desk where an older woman with dark skin and graying hair checked them in under the name William T. Riker. She seemed nice enough, but she had immediately branded Dick as a delinquent after seeing the scar on his face. He felt her eyes on the back of his head as he made his way to the elevators. Dick felt like he was walking to the gallows. The ride up to the fifth floor was quiet. He was just excited to finally be able to talk to Slade in private to find out what his mission would be. When the elevator opened, they stepped and began to walk down the carpeted hall. Dick was so lost in the fantasies of his first mission that he kept walking when Slade stopped. Backpeddling, he laughed it off and explained that he was distracted.

The room wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either. It had grey carpets and beige walls. Two queen sized beds sat against the eastern wall. There was a nightstand in between them, and on it sat a digital clock and a small lamp. The beds had crisp white sheets and large white comforters that were like a fluffy cloud. Dick wanted to drop all his baggage and fall into the bed, never to wake again. He truly missed sleep, even if it was nightmare plagued. His sleep aid did nothing for him other than make it hard for him to hold his train of thought. There was a large open out window across from the door. To Dick's left was a small bathroom, stocked with mini shampoos and soap. A large dresser was against the wall; sitting on it was a wide flat screen TV, and beside that was a writing desk. Overall, it was a cozy little room.

Slade sauntered in and tossed his suitcase onto the plush bed closest to the door like it was a sack of potatoes. Hesitantly, Dick walked further into the room and gently laid his baggage on the unoccupied bed. For a moment he stood there like an idiot, watching what Slade was doing. The man unzipped his suitcase and removed a hiking backpack; under it were clothes, which Slade took out and placed neatly in the wooden dresser. Finally, Dick opened the suitcase, in which he found several changed of clothes, a gray, black, and blue backpack, and a bag of toiletries. Pulling out the bag of toiletries, he moved across the room and entered the bathroom, where he threw the bag under the sink. Once back in the main room, Dick unpacked his clothes and gazed unsurely at the backpack. Curiosity got the better of him; opening the backpack, he found his uniform, boots, and utility belt.

"So, what's the mission?" Dick asked nonchalantly.

"There may not be one."

Dick wrinkled his nose. "Why not?"

Slade shifted his gaze onto the boy. "Lex Luthor requested my presence. I do not know what for, but knowing Luthor it won't be a waste of time."

"Not that it's not nice to get out of the house, but why bring me?"

"You deserve a change of scenery. Besides, things could change in an instant. I need a good right arm."

Dick awkwardly shuffled his feet. "Thanks."

"Grab your bag, let's go."

"Right now?"

"We need to get to Lex Corp by five."

Dick watched as Slade collected his bag and headed out the door. Checking his video watch, his heart jumped into his throat and he let out a muffled gasp. It was already four-thirty! Grabbing his backpack containing the uniform, he slung it over his shoulder and raced out the door after Slade.

* * *

The street was busy with people bustling about, which made Dick realize he missed the house. People bumped into him and brushed past without so much as an apology or an "Excuse me". Dick had been raised with manners and honestly could not believe how rude some people were. Teenage girls hung out on every block; most of them were half dressed and all of them made googly eyes and blew kisses when Dick walked past. However, he ignored them and continued on his way, careful not to lose sight of Slade's orange backpack. People annoyed him; they were loud, obnoxious, and rude. Over the last several months, Dick had come to love his simple existence in the middle of nowhere, and he longed for it. Out there, there were no blaring car horns or screaming girls. In the city, everything was so fast and outrageous. It was funny to look back and remember that he had once preferred the city over the country. Without a doubt, he would not trade the simple life for anything. Sometimes he just had to stop and smell the roses. Life with Slade had taught him that.

Azure eyes gawked up at the giant Daily Planet sphere. Dick's mouth hung agape and he quickly closed it before he caught flies. People continued to push past him, ignoring the boy who stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Tearing his eyes away from the golden globe, Dick glanced around, looking for Slade. Panic consumed him and his heart beat frantically in his chest. Slade was gone; Dick was all alone in the middle of a busy street. He felt like a scared little kid looking for his parents. His eyes scanned the street, but he couldn't find Slade anywhere. All he saw was irritating people giving him strange looks. Taking a deep breath, Dick tried to calm himself and keep a level head. He could find LexCorp by himself. After all, he _did _know Metropolis like the back of his hand.

Turning quickly, Dick ran face first into something—no, someone. There was an explosion of paper like a mushroom cloud, and it all fluttered down to the ground. Dick fell to the ground and blinked rapidly trying to catch a glimpse of who he hit. Finally, he caught sight of her. A young woman sat a few feet away. She wore a grayish-purple office suit with a lacy black camisole underneath. She had long black hair with bangs to the side and light blue eyes. The woman held a hand to her head and let out an exasperated groan as she watched her papers float to the ground like feathers. Behind her stood a young man not much older than Dick. He had messy red hair and soft childish eyes that never lost their sparkle. The young man wore a yellow shirt and baggy brown cargo pants. In his hands was a profession camera and he took pictures and laughed at the scene that had unfolded before him. Shooting to his feet, Dick nearly fell right over again. Extending his hand, the woman accepted it and he pulled her to her feet. She dusted her skirt and shot him an irritated glance. All the while, the young male laughed and continued to take pictures of their accident.

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Lane," Dick apologized.

Lois glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?"

"No-"

"He seems to know you," Jimmy Olsen laughed, looking through his photos.

Dick knelt down and began to collect the fallen papers. "I'm Fredrick Lloyd; Freddy, if you please. I'm a huge fan of yours. I follow your articles closely. It's a real honor to finally meet you, and let me say you are even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined."

She blushed. "Why, thank you, Freddy. Oh, don't bother putting those papers in any specific order. I'll take them up to the office and Clark, my friend, can help me rearrange them."

He handed over the papers and smiled brightly at her. "Just out of curiosity, how is the Grayson kid? You haven't written anything more about him."

"Wayne is keeping things under wraps. I haven't even tracked down what country he is receiving treatment in. It's sort of a dead case." She thought for a moment. "But if people are that interested, I guess I can pursue it."

"Fredrick!" Dick turned to see Slade approaching them. "Where have you been? Your mother and I have been worried sick. It's not like you to wander off."

"Sorry," Dick mumbled. "I ran into Ms. Lane and we began talking."

Slade smiled at Lois and shook her hand warmly. "It's great to meet you. Big fan. I'm sorry about my son's carelessness."

"Don't be! He is a kind young man; I'm actually glad that I met him."

He patted Dick's shoulder. "We better get going before your mother is late to her spa day."

Dick feigned laughter and waved to Jimmy and Lois. "Bye, it was nice meeting you both."

He turned and disappeared into the crowd before they even had the chance to wave back. The whole ordeal had been strange and Dick felt extremely awkward. It had been so long since he had held a conversation with anyone other than Slade or Wintergreen that he almost forgot how to. Jimmy and Lois were both nice people, but he was not seeking out a conversation, and it had just been od to talk to them so long one thing was for sure though; Slade had been eavesdropping, or watching them. How else would he have known that Dick had chosen the name Fredrick? Dick idly wondered if the encounter with Jimmy and Lois had been a test from Slade to see if he would try to escape. But in the end, Dick decided it wasn't because Slade had no way of knowing that dick would be distracted and run into Lois Lane.

Dick felt like a klutz as he moved down the street, following Slade like an obedient dog. Staying close to the man, he warily trudged through the crowd, attempting to avoid all contact with other people. A tall building that touched the sky stood before them; it had black tinted windows that reflected back the picture of a busy street. Giant green letters spelled "LexCorp" at the top of the building. Catching Slade's eye, Dick nodded and Slade nodded in return. Turning, Dick walked away. They couldn't go into the building together just in case one of them got caught with guns and knives. Walking through the doors, Dick stuffed his hands in his pockets and wondered into the lobby of LexCorp. It was a large white room with elevators on either side of the main desk. Behind the desk was a pale woman with bright green eyes and ruby red hair. Dick was suddenly reminded of Starfire but he pushed the though away. Moving to the elevator, the woman stopped him.

"You can't go up there," she said sternly. "Do you have an appointment? What's your name?"

Dick replied coolly. "William Thomas Riker."

She consulted her papers. "You may proceed."

Pressing the call button, Dick waited patiently for the metal deathtrap to descend to the ground floor before he stepped in. the elevator was rather large; all the walls were mirrors and they were lined with gold handrails. Hitting the button for the top floor, Dick shrugged off his backpack and began to undress. First he slipped his shirt over his head and laughed at his reflection in the mirror. He had perfect abs that were rock hard and scars over his abdomen and ribs. Dick thought of Jacob Black when he saw himself, only because of his abs. Now _that_ would drive the girls who had flirted with him crazy. Pulling off his pants and shoes, Dick removed his uniform and began to put it on. All the while he hoped beyond hope that no one needed to use the elevator while he was getting dressed. Looking up, worried at the rising number above the door, Dick wondered if he would have enough time to finished getting dressed. Lacing up his boots, he flipped on his gloves and stuffed his civilian clothes into his backpack. Just as the elevator reached the top floor, he clicked his utility belt into place.

Stepping out of the elevator, Dick put his gun in its holster. At the last second slipped his knife into a hidden pocket of his suit, just in case he got his weapons taken away. He was mildly surprised to find Slade fully dressed in his suit, mask and all, already waiting for him at the top. Beside him stood a beautiful woman with light brown hair and hard cold eyes. She had long legs and a lean body. The woman wore a comfortably sized green skirt, a white blouse, and a green sweater over it. Dick's face was set in a scowl as he approached the pair. He was no longer Dick Grayson, but—whatever the hell his name was going to be. For the time being, he was just Apprentice. He did not speak because he knew that in the presence of others he was only to speak when spoken to. Sure, it was an unspoken rule, but it was still there.

"Please follow me," the woman said with a curt nod.

Dick allowed Slade to go first as the woman led them away. Without complaint, he fell into step behind them. The woman led them through a closed door, and all of a sudden Dick found himself looking over Metropolis. The sun glinted off glass building, shining like a fresh cut diamond. He was hundreds upon hundreds of feet up, and he would have it no other way. The downside was that Lex Luthor was blocking his view. The office was large, fit for a king, or a mad man like Luthor. Lex Luthor sat behind a large glass desk with his back facing the beautiful scene that took Dick's breath away. His chin rested on his folded hands, and he watched every step they made with cold calculating eyes. Absentmindedly, he played with his ring, which contained Kryptonite. Dick couldn't help but glare at Luthor as he walked into the room; the man just smiled in return.

Luthor nodded toward the leather chair in front of his desk, and Slade sat down and made himself comfortable. Despite his relaxed position, Dick knew he was ready to attack at any moment. Wordlessly, Dick moved and stood at Slade's shoulder with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Mercy did the same behind Luthor. The man's eyes slid over Dick, pausing for a moment on his face before finally falling on Slade. Dick let his eyes drift to a point just over Luthor's shoulder, but he kept his ears tuned, not wanting to miss what was being said. Luthor smiled at Slade and greeted him, thought there was a cold undertone to his voice.

"Great to see you again, Deathstroke."

"The same to you."

Luthor's eyes shot to Dick. "I see you have a new apprentice."

"I don't have all day," Slade said dryly.

"Yes, of course. As you know, I am not one of the most liked men in the city-"

Dick scoffed, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. He hadn't meant it, honestly. It was just a natural reaction.

Luthor's eyes hardened. "You agree?"

With a slight nod from Slade, Dick swallowed hard and continued. "As a matter of fact, I do. You cause too much and unnecessary violence. If you're trying to make a good image of yourself, you're doing a pretty bang-up job."

Luthor's face remained completely emotionless as he turned to Slade. "Where did you find this one?"

Slade shrugged. "The circus."

"You don't look like much," Luthor pointed out.

"That's what they all say," Dick replied coolly.

"Your boy needs to learn respect, Deathstroke."

"He gives it to those who deserve it," Slade said. "Now are we here to discuss a contract or harass my apprentice?"

Luthor nodded. "A man by the name of Gaius Baltar has recently gathered a small group of men. I believe they plan to assassinate me. Now, this is just a hunch, but I would rather deal with the problem before it becomes a problem. As you can see, you are one of the few people I can turn to, as I don't want my name anywhere near this.

Slade nodded. "We can't have your name drug through the mud, now can we?"

"If it is money you are after, Deathstroke, I have no lack of it, no question about it. But let us discuss prices later. I would like to know how you plan to take Baltar out."

"I plan to do it myself."

"And the boy?"

"He is still in training, and far from ready to kill anyone. He will be backup. This will simply be a training exercise."

"I see," Luthor said, narrowing his eyes. "Mercy, please show them out."

Slade glanced at Dick. "Are you ready, Apprentice?"

"Yes, Master."

* * *

_I've realized that I have a legitimate problem with changing random characters names to characters from sci-fi shows. I use at least two in this chapter. Luthor's possible assassin was originally named John Wilkonson, but Gaius Baltar is a fantastic character from Battlestar Galactica and I thought it just sounded more like a cool asssassin name. And I also used a name from Star Trek, which this is probably the second or third time I've done that._

_Also, a lot of you have been wondering if Dick was going to get out of the house sometime soon, so I hope you're really liking this. _


	30. One Shot, One Kill

_I hope you'll forgive me for the fact that it took me over a month to update...again. To make up for it, some intense shit happens in this chapter, which you'll either love or hate. Probably hate. And to continue to make up for the fact that I'm a lazy bum, the next chapter is short, so I should have it up relatively soon...I hope._

* * *

Dick's heart fluttered in his chest at the thought of his first mission. Okay, so it wasn't completely his mission because Slade was going to be with him, but it would still be the most action he'd seen in months. Despite his excitement, there was still a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dick was all about logic and research, yet he trusted his gut almost as much as his brain, maybe more. The young acrobat had always been unfortunate. If something bad could happen, then it was bound to happen to him. Dick had a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why would the habit suddenly go away? The point was, it wouldn't. The poor boy had a history of getting beaten within an inch of his life because something that should have been so simple went terribly wrong. Dick sighed and rubbed his face. Was he excited? Hell, yes. Was something going to go wrong? Most likely.

The night was cool, yet muggy, and the occasional breeze would ruffle Dick's hair. High above him the full moon shone over Metropolis, illuminating the peaceful sleeping city. The stars twinkled like a million tiny diamonds against the black sky. It would have been perfect, if only Dick could breathe. It wasn't that he couldn't; it was that when he did, he was dissatisfied. As his chest rose and fell with steady even breaths and precious oxygen circled through his lungs, Dick felt like he couldn't get enough air. For the first time he realized how dirty it was. There was most definitely a difference in air quality between Metropolis and their small house in the country. Dick honestly couldn't wait to get back, despite how eager he had been to leave. One could say that he was homesick. Though, deep down, something told him he would not be returning home for a long while, and he would not be seeing Wintergreen for just as long. His stomach dropped a little. God, he couldn't stand gut feelings.

Twisting his mouth in a grimace, he let his eyes slide over the city block. Before him was a rundown apartment building. It had crumbling bricks and rotting over broken windows. He was facing the back of the building, so he could easily see the wooden barn-like doors that were being guarded by a tall handsome man in his early forties. He had brown hair and a nice build, but Dick couldn't make out any more descriptive details beyond that, for the distance between them was so great. One thing was for sure; in the thug's hands was a gun. Squinting to get a better look, Dick wished that Slade had given him a pair of binoculars. The gun was a nice size, presumably a Mac 10 or an MP7, which he had very little experience with. Pursing his lips, he searched his brain on any and all information he had on the models of guns. He knew they didn't have much firepower, nor did they have range that would affect Dick's path.

The rest of the street was empty. Even in the ghetto, things were calm. Metropolis was nothing like Gotham. Dick stood on a shabby motel where successful men took their secret women for a night away from the world. The rest of the block held small businesses, such as tattoo parlors and an all-night deli. Pressing a pair of goggles to his eyes, his vision went green and he could suddenly see inside the building. Well, he could see the heat signatures of the people inside the building. Moving his eyes past the guard at the door, he counted six, maybe seven, greenish tinted blobs wandering around the ground floor of the apartment building. In what was presumably a back room was a figure who seemed to be hunched over. Both the second and third floor were uninhabited. On the roof of the building stood Slade. Smiling to himself, Dick switched off the goggles and placed them back in his utility belt. Everything was going perfect. The plan was so simple that a toddler could follow it. Slade took out the boss while Dick distracted the minions. But if it was so simple, then why did Dick feel unsure?

With a soft hum, Slade's voice cracked to life in his ear. "Are you ready?"

"There's no going back now."

"You are such an optimist," Wintergreen butted in.

"I'm ready," Dick replied to Slade.

"Good. From here on out, maintain radio silence."

Dick nodded more to himself than to anyone. His heart beat against his ribcage faster than a hummingbird's wings. Every inch of his body buzzed with excitement and adrenaline pumped through his veins. Dick could hear his blood pounding against the inside of his skull and he smiled, ready to jump into action. Wiping the smirk from his face, he clenched his jaw and removed a grappling hook from his belt. A soft breeze passed him, ruffling through his black hair. Taking a deep breath, Dick closed his eyes and rushed forward. Leaping like a lemur he jumped off the roof of the motel and began to free fall towards the cold unforgiving cement. Shooting his grappling hook at a nearby street lamp, Dick braced himself and swung towards the apartment building, ready to take on whatever waited for him.

Feet first, he crashed through a second story window. He had plowed through the rattling boards and found himself standing in the second floor. The rotting floor groaned and cracked beneath his feet and he inwardly cursed himself for being so stupid. Dick was in a long hallway that had doors on both sides and crumbling walls. The floor was splintered and had holes all the way down to the other end. He was almost afraid to move for fear of falling through the floor. He slowly took a deep breath and pressed his back against the wall, hoping that there would be less of a chance for him to fall through. Dick strained his ears for any sign of movement, but he heard nothing. It seemed as if even the mice were afraid of the building. But Dick couldn't blame them. Inching down the hall, Dick was about to turn a corner when the floor beneath him cracked and crumbled.

Dick swore under his breath as he went down. His left leg went through the floor as his right leg remained above. To say the least, the position he was in was not the most comfortable, but he had been in worse. For a moment he wondered if the minions were deaf because he felt like he was an elephant walking through the halls. Planting his gloved hands on the wooden floor he hoisted himself out of the hole and examined his leg. It looked fine except for a few sharp splinters that poked through his uniform. Quickly picking out the pieces of wood, he glanced around to make sure he was alone before proceeding around the corner. He was faced with a boarded up window and a door to its left. However, he found no elevator, but he did see a laundry chute. That building had to be older than the country, or worse, older than Alfred. A few feet away from the door was a rather large hole with dried blood around the planks of wood.

Taking another hesitant step forward, Dick was suddenly slapped in the face with a horrible, gut-wrenching smell. For a moment he thought he was going to spew vomit, but he swallowed it, unwilling to add onto the awful stench. Blinking water from his eyes, he cautiously moved forward, determined to find the source of the smell. Without the slightest of sound, Dick removed a retractable staff from his belt and extended it. Kneeling before the hole, he had to cover his mouth so as to not puke. In the hole was a man who looked to be in his early thirties; he was Caucasian and had no hair whatsoever. His cloudy eyes stared at nothing and his mouth hung open as if he had seen something shocking. His neck was at an odd angle and dried blood covered his face from a nasty gash on his forehead that had long since stopped bleeding, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the maggots that crawled in and out of his wounds, eating the dead flesh of their host. Dick crawled away and tried to calm his frantically beating heart. He was from Gotham! He had seen tons of dead bodies in his days as Robin! Why did this one bother him so? Because he wasn't Robin anymore. He was seeing through different eyes; eyes that had to be cool and calculating. Eyes that had to drive a dagger of fear into the hearts of his enemies. He was not Robin, the innocent sidekick of Batman. He was the dangerous apprentice of Slade.

Standing up, Dick moved away from the hole and towards the door. Finding the body had taught him one thing. If he needed to make a fast getaway he could always return to the second floor, for he was much lighter than the minions, and with luck they would fall through the floor. Keeping his staff clutched in one hand, he used the other to silently open the door. Dick swept his eyes over the room and sighed in delight. He was in a small stairwell, a cement stairwell. The boy was overjoyed at not having to worry about falling through the floor. Slipping in, he began to descend the stairs. Incoherent voice bounced off the walls and into his ears. When he reached the bottom, Dick opened the door a crack and peered out, careful not to be seen.

The room was large and had no separate rooms off of it, except for one. It seemed like all the walls had been knocked down to make a bigger room. A few steps that lead to a closed door stood in one corner of the room while the barn-like doors were to Dick's right. Crates were stocked to the ceiling, each containing some type of explosive or another. Slade had warned him not to use firepower unless completely necessary. Five men wandered aimlessly around, but Dick knew one or two more were concealed by the boxes. Placing his staff back in his belt, he removed a boomerang and swiftly took out a light in just the flick of his wrist. Successfully, he fished all of the minions out of hiding and they all ran toward the broken light to find out what the source of the noise was.

The corner of Dick's mouth twitched upward in a smirk. He had barely done anything and already he had the men eating out of the palm of his hand. Obviously, they were not the brightest crayons in the box, but Dick didn't put anything past them because he knew underestimating enemies could lead to fatal mistakes. Slipping into the shadows dick moved through the dimly lit room, keeping an eye on each of the men. After they deduced that they were dealing with a broken lightbulb, they turned around to find themselves face to face with Dick. For a moment they just blinked at him as if he were an apparition, then they began to take action. All of the men moved slowly, beginning to circle him, and he let them. A particularly ugly one had a gun aimed at Dick's head and a scowl plastered on his face.

"Get outta here while you still can, kid," he snarled.

A chuckle rose in Dick's throat. "Use a gun in a room full of explosives. Great idea."

The man slowly lowered his gun. "Last chance. Get out."

Dick shrugged. "I think I'll stay awhile."

One of the men jumped at him from behind and Dick whirled around so fast that the man hadn't even seen the kick coming before he was halfway across the room. For a moment the minions gawked at their fallen comrade, and then all at one they threw themselves at Dick. Some held weapons such as knives and lead pipes while others opted to use their bare hands. Dicking a sloppy punch to his head, Dick swept the men's feet out from under them and turned to catch a metal pipe that had been aimed at his turned back. Ripping the pipe from the hands of his attacker, he jumped over someone who had made a grab for him and chucked the pipe at the man he had knocked across the room. The man had been trying to get up and join the fight, but the pipe to the head had sent him sprawling back on to the floor. Dick backflipped out of the way just as a knife was sent in his direction. Gracefully landing, he elbowed a minion in the nose, and smiled he heard a satisfying crack.

The minions were lost in a delirium of anger as they threw blind punches and tried to grab Dick. The boy was like a bar of soap that would slip through their fingers if they held him too tight. The men were all idiots, letting their rage control them. Dick vaguely remembered a time when he was just like them, but he could see how big of a mistake it was. The men were sloppy and careless, and Dick wondered if he had been like that when he let anger control his life. He was grateful that Slade had taught him to control his anger, to channel it, or he would be just as stupid as the minions prancing around the room. Seldom did he feel anger anymore. The thing that he was most angry over in the last month was Wintergreen making him clean the house for not eating his vegetables. He had felt like a little kid again, and that was the main reason he had been angry.

Dick seized a man's wrist and twisted his arm behind him before kicking him in the back and sending him to the floor. Jumping to the top of a crate, Dick avoided a crowbar to the knee. The idiots were practically beating each other to a bloody pulp just to get to Dick. Throwing a couple of flash bombs, he climbs over the other side of the crate and snickered at the cursing men. Pulling out a couple of boomerangs, he threw them in various locations and watched as the men scrambled after them, thinking they were in pursuit of him. Dick could definitely not count that as a mission. It was not a challenge and all of his opponents were stupid. He was gaining no knowledge whatsoever, but it would be a great story to laugh about later on down the road. Besides, his mission wasn't to take them out, he just had to keep them busy. Another plus was that distracting them was entertaining.

"Where'd he go?" One man yelled.

"He's over here!" another answered. "Wait, that's just Bennie."

The first one replied, "No, you dumbass! Bennie's dead!"

"I see dead people!"

Dick wondered where Gaius Baltar had found these men; clearly, it was not a college. Emerging from the shadow, he grabbed one of the men and swept his legs out from under. Curling his hand over the minion's mouth, he pinched a nerve in his neck and felt the man go limp like a rag doll. Dick lowered the man to the floor and quietly prided himself; two down, four to go. Creeping along the rows of crates, he peered around the side and scanned the open area before him. A man brandishing a crowbar looked around warily as if expecting a ghost to pop out and scare him. Dick was please; the minions were paranoid. All the better for him. For a moment he considered throwing something in the opposite direction to spook the man, but he dismissed the thought for fear that he would call the others for help. It wasn't that he couldn't take them all at one. He could, though he just wanted to pick them off one by one to create a sense of hopelessness.

Peeling away from the crates, Dick revealed himself to the man. The poor guy stared at him with his mouth agape and his crowbar hanging loosely from his hand. Dick's very presence intimidated him. The young boy had a cold hard face that sent icy child down his spine. Though Dick was small and didn't look like much, the man knew the power he packed. Calling his friends would be useless, fighting on his own would have disastrous results. Dropping his crowbar, the man crumbled to the ground in a heap. Bewildered, Dick gingerly nudged him with his boot and was stunned to find the man had passed out cold. He knew that his outward appearance was that of a delinquent, but he didn't think he was that scary. Was he? Shaking his head, Dick knew that the men weren't used to dealing with people like him.

Submerging himself in the shadows, Dick wound his way through the labyrinth of crates in search of the last three men. He idly wondered how Slade was faring his mission to take down Baltar, but he didn't let his mind ponder on it for too long. Slade was more than capable of taking care of himself and Dick knew that all too well, but he still worried. The young acrobat had lost so much in his short life; his parents, his life before. He was not going to lose any part of the new life he had found. Surely if something were to go wrong, Slade would contact him on the radio, wouldn't he? Dick was half tempted to call him to see what was taking so long, but Slade had ordered radio silence. What if he really needed help and couldn't call? Just as the thought passed through his head, his earwig crackled to life and Slade's voice filled his ear.

"Get out of the building now."

"But-"

"No buts. Get out now," Slade ordered. "There's a fire, this place is coming down."

Dick stopped dead in his tracks. "What about you?"

"_I _need to finish the contract, and _you _need to get out."

"If this place comes down, you'll be killed."

"Then so be it," Slade growled. "I'm telling you to leave me and save yourself."

Despite the circumstances, Dick couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "So you _did _read the Harry Potter books." He sighed. "I could-"

"The only thing you'll be doing is getting out."

The connection was cut and Dick sighed. There was no getting to Slade once he had his mind on something. Dick almost abandoned everything to go and help him, but thought better of it. He knew that wouldn't fly with Slade. Already Dick could smell the intoxicating smell of wood burning. It tickled his nostrils and teased his senses. Moving away from the crates of explosives, Dick ran out into the open, praying that the last three men were too busy being stupid to catch him. Much to his delight, they were nowhere in sight, but he didn't let his guard down because he was pretty sure that he had yet to take down the one with the gun. Dashing towards the large doors, he clawed at the rusty hatch, but the door would not budge no matter how much weight he put against it.

Hearing the angry crackled and pop of fire behind him, he became desperate. Burning to death or being impaled by flying debris was certainly not the way he wanted to go. Actually he'd prefer not to "go" at all. Ramming his shoulder into the doors several times, Dick gave up and gazed around the room, looking for another way out, but he found none. Dick sighed angrily and removed an exploding disk from his belt and attached it to the door. The place was coming down anyway, so why not? Quickly ducking behind a row of crates, Dick paced his hands over his ears and waited for the explosion. He seriously thought he was going to be deaf by the time he was thirty. Covering his ears had been useless. When the explosion rocked the building, he still thought his ears were going to bleed. Maybe next time he would invest in ear plugs.

Standing up from his crouched position, Dick moved from the crates into the cover of smoke. The door had exploded outward in a mess of splinters toward the dimly lit parking lot. Coughing slightly, Dick stepped into the horrible excuse for fresh air and drank it like a glass of water. Dick was shifting his way through rubble in an attempt to get away from the condemned building when a groan reached his ears. Whirling around, he pulled his gun from his holster in one fluid motion and took aim, ready for one or all of the three stupid men to jump out at him. But there was no one there. Lowering his arms, he began to slowly walk backwards never taking his eyes off the building. Swallowing hard, he turned quickly, prepared to run when he tripped over something. A heart wrenching scream pierced the air, and for a moment Dick through it had come from him, but when he turned around to survey the area, he found that was not at all the case.

He saw the man who had been guarding the door. His handsome face was twisted in agony and his eyes shone with tears. Impaled in his chest was a bloody spear of wood. His callused hands groped at the wood and with a raggedy cough, blood flew from his mouth. A pool of the crimson liquid had begun to form under the dying man as if it were gathering for some secret meeting. The man's head hit the ground when his neck was no longer able to support it. His body convulsed in a spasm of coughing and a think trail of blood ran past his lips and down his chin. Closing his eyes to a sharp dagger of agony, he opened them and stared at the stars that seemed to have lost their shine and turned into black cold vortexes of nothing. The pain was too much to bear. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Turning his head ever so slowly, the man decided to get a good look at his tormentor.

An inhuman cry rushed up Dick's throat and out of his mouth as he scrambled to his feet. Standing over the man, his small body began to tremble and his lungs began to expand and contract faster than his brain could process. It was _his _fault. He was the reason the man was bleeding out on the pavement before him. His heart was going haywire in his chest and his brain zeroed in on one thing and one thing only. The man was his responsibility. It was his mess, he had to clean it up. When the man stared at him there was no anger, only sadness of a life half lived, of a life cut short. Dick had to look away. There was no saving the man; he would die before any sort of help could get there. Yet he lay there writhing in agony and it crushed Dick's heart. knitting his eyebrows, a determined look found its way onto his face and he knew what he had to do. Raising his gun, Dick turned to face the man. A sob rose in his throat and tears leaked from his eyes.

_This is insane! _a voice in his head screamed. Dick recognized it as the voice from before, but it had increased in volume. _You're not a killer! You can't murder this man!_

"It's not murder," Dick muttered under his breath. "It's mercy."

_You took an oath. _

"The boy who took the oath is dead."

_Then why am I still here?_

Dick ignored the nagging voice.

"I don't want to die," the man moaned.

"Then you should…should have never been born," Dick sobbed.

The words had slipped out of his mouth before he had even had a chance to think about them. Though what he had said had been brash, it had also been logical. Everybody who had been born would eventually die. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Dick harshly blinked tears from his eyes and tried to focus on the blurry image of the bleeding man. Dick began to sob uncontrollably; no matter which way the scale tipped everything that had happened was his fault. Whether he pulled the trigger or left the man there, he would die, and Dick would be his murderer. So which was the lesser of the two evils? If he let the man be, than it could be considered manslaughter, but if he pulled the trigger then he was doing nothing more than putting the poor guy out of his misery.

Closing his teary eyes and looking away, Dick began to put pressure on the trigger when he thought better of it. Dick opened his eyes and gazed into the eyes of his victim. His eyes plead with him; whether to let him live or to kill him, Dick did not know. Imagining the latter of the two would put his mind at ease, at least a little. The gun jerked in his hands and thunder seemed to boom in his ears. The bullet had hit him right between the eyes, quick and clean. With a pent up emotional cry, Dick fell to his knees and threw himself over the dead man's body. Bundling his bloodied shirt in his shaking fists, Dick pressed his face into the crook of the man's neck and sobbed. In that moment he would have given anything, even his own life to bring the man back. He was a killer, a murderer. Even though he had received no injuries, Dick still felt as if his still beating heart had been ripped from his chest.

Slade had been nearby when he had heard the gunshot. He had seen Dick go down and his heart had nearly stopped altogether. No, not Dick. He had already failed Joey and Grant, he could not lose Dick too. A rage like he had never felt before filled him as he rushed towards Dick's fallen form. It was like red hot lava that threatened to consume him. Dropping to his knees beside the boy's still body, he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and gently rolled Dick's body over. His face was stained with tears and hi small body rocked with sobs at each shuddering breath he took. Dick's uniform was moist with fresh blood, but it was not visible against the black of the material. The liquid of life was splattered across his pale face and his eyes stared curiously at Slade. More than anything in that moment, Slade wanted to pull the boy into a hug and express how overjoyed he was to see that he was alive, but the building behind them was about to explode. Then his eye caught sight of the body beside him, and everything clicked into place. Hoisting Dick to his feet, Slade threw one of the boy's arms around his should, but Dick feebly resisted.

"No!" he cried. "No! We can't just leave him here!"

Slade shushed him. "We are too close to the building, we need to move now."

Dick hung his head and seemed to accept that. "I….I killed him…he's dead because of me…"

"I know. Just hang on. Are you hurt?"

"I took an oath…"

_I thought the boy who took the oath was dead,_ the voice said irritably.

"Shut up," Dick snapped.

"Apprentice?"

"I'm sorry…." He murmured. "He was dying…I couldn't just leave him there…"

Slade sighed and continued to drag Dick alongside him. The boy seemed unable to hold himself up. All the fight was drained out of him. Limping away, Slade and Dick were in the next alley over when the building exploded in a giant red and black mushroom cloud. Slade hugged the haunted boy to his chest and turned his back to the building as debris rained into the narrow alley. Dick didn't even flinch at the sound of the explosion; instead a strangled sob escaped him and he went slack against Slade's arms. Picking Dick up, Slade jogged out of the alley and towards the car that awaited him. Slade yanked open the door and slid the boy into the backseat before climbing into the front and starting the car.

"Can you get changed?" Slade asked, removing his mask. His voice was laced with worry ad a little bit of guilt.

Instead of answering, Dick began peeling off his uniform. On the floor of the car was his backpack from which he removed a pair of jeans, a button down flannel shirt, and his raggedy Nikes. Slipping on the pants, he reached for his shoes when the horrifying picture of the dead man's unseeing eyes flashed through his head. Dick curled into himself and bit his lip, unwilling to cry in front of Slade again, but that did not stop the tears from spilling over. Tasting the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, Dick lessened the pressure on his lip and changed to digging his nails into his forearm. Taking a shuddering breath, Dick uncurled himself and continued getting dressed. Shoving his feet into his shoes, he loosely tied them and slowly slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. His hands trembled as he attempted to button the plaid shirt; in the end he had to give up, leaving his bare chest to the wind.

As Dick lay in the backseat, he could see the streetlights fly by outside the window. Faintly Dick could hear Slade speaking to him, but he could not make out the words. It didn't matter, he didn't want to listen anyway. Dick heard the faint hum of his earwig crackling to life, and Wintergreen's concerned voice filled his head. However, he tore the device from his head and harshly threw it under the seat. The corners of his vision were rimmed with black and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. Slade, dressed in civilian clothing, gently pulled him from the car and Dick leaned against him for support, not caring how pathetic he looked. The world was one, big, thunderous roar in his ears; some things were moving too fast, some things too slow. Dick could make out the door of their hotel and they limped towards it.

Once inside, Slade directed him toward the elevator, though their presence did not go unnoticed by the manager, who had taken a disliking to Dick. Immediately she was on them, playing an intense game of twenty questions with Slade; she wanted to know why Dick looked like he had been hit by a car. The woman had assumed that he had gotten into a street fight, but Slade had assured her that Dick had been in a skateboarding accident and had received a mild concussion. Moaning, Dick helped the cause a little, and he and Slade shuffled into the elevator. His mind was unable to focus on anything, but every once in a while, his mind flashed back to the man he had killed, and a tear would slip down his face. Before he knew it they were alone in their room.

Dick watched Slade's mouth move, but no words came out. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he made a beeline for the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before he vomited. Crumbling into a heap on the disgusting hotel bathroom floor, Dick began to sob again, unable to hold it in any longer. Breathing heavily, his eyes slid shut and consciousness left him. He found a dark figure standing before him, and once again the voice spoke.

_You brought this upon yourself._

"Shut the hell up, Robin," Dick grumbled.


	31. Cat and Mouse

_A little over two weeks and I'm updating already! This feels like a new record for me! I got this one up quicker because it's short and I didn't really have much to do as my wifi was out due to a storm, so I decided to type up a few pages of this. Also, I'm gonna try to get the next chapter up quickly as it is probably about as long as this chapter...possibly next weekend if I'm motivated enough. I can't do much typing in the coming weekend and week as I'm doing stuff this weekend and I also have an English final paper due on Thursday and its only half done. But enough about my life...enjoy this chapter._

* * *

Cheshire resisted the urge to giggle as she flipped over the side of the roof and landed gracefully on the next roof over. An assassin did not giggle or laugh. It was improper. Jade Nguyen seldom laughed also; what was there to laugh at? The only person who had ever seen her true colors was Roy, and she was reluctant to even show herself to him, even if he was her boyfriend and the only personal on the earth that she trusted. Still she felt a childlike glee as she raced across rooftop after rooftop in pursuit of her prey, a greasy man with dirty clothes and a beer belly. The man was way out of shape, but she let him always stay ahead a few steps to heighten her experience. Cheshire had to admit, for an overweight man, he was really booking it. However, she could catch up anytime that she wanted. It was a bad habit, really, playing with her food. Yet it was a habit she refused to break, for it was much too fun to let go. She was the Cheshire cat after all.

Faintly, Cheshire could hear Speedy's footsteps behind her; they were like the soft pitter-patter of falling rain. She ignored him and focused solely on the man trying in vain to escape her. Her mask glinted in the pale moonlight and Cheshire liked to imagine she could hear the man's heart pumping sporadically in his chest. Ahead of them, she sighted a dead end and smiled to herself; the man had nowhere to go. He stopped and pressed his back against the wall. Gnashing his teeth like a caged animal, he produced a switch blade and held it out in front of him. No matter how threatening the man tried to make himself, he still did not intimidate her. Unbeknownst to him, it was not the first time she had had a weapon pointed at her, and it surely would not be the last. The man looked terrified, and Cheshire enjoyed that. She wanted to pay with him a little bit before squeezing out the information she required, but she knew Speedy wouldn't appreciate that much.

The man's name was Mike Kochan, but he often worked under the alias Aaron Donald. Cheshire was also aware that his street name was Wheels. Few people knew his real name; those who did were his wife Sheila, his brother Dale and Cheshire and Speedy. Kochan had earned his street name by his profession. He drove private cars for anyone who called upon him. However, he was a cheat and a crook, often he mugged his passengers and left them for dead. Wheels knew his weaknesses though; he was low on the food chain, and he knew who to mess with and who to leave alone. He was slowly trying to work his way up the food chain by doing "charity work" for higher ranked criminals, and that had been his downfall. It was all over the underground that Kochan had done a service for Deathstroke the Terminator. Apparently someone couldn't keep their mouth shut.

Wheels swung his knife threateningly and his comb-over ruffled in the wind. At first he had thought nothing of Cheshire. To be honest, he had thought she was a prostitute, but there was something about her grinning mask that chilled him to his very core. She was quick, smooth, and very dangerous. Her movements were fluid and graceful almost as if she were a fish swimming in a clear pond. Kochan's stomach twisted and for a moment he thought he was going to be violently ill. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he pressed his back to the ledge and squeezed his eyes shut as Cheshire lurked towards him. He was so screwed. There was no way out, the ledge was too high for him to scale, and even if he managed to, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't fall fifty stories. So there he stood, cowering like a child. He moaned softly, unwillingly, as her delicate hand caressed his cheek. More than anything he wanted to lean into it, but he did not want to test Cheshire's patience.

"Don't hurt me," he begged.

Her voice was the sweet whisper of the wind flowing through the trees. "I just want some information."

Surprised at how sweet and lovely her voice was, Kochan peeled his eyes open and stared at the catlike eyes of Cheshire's mask. The slight night breeze ruffled her green robe and he longed for it to move higher up her high. When he had still thought her to be a prostitute, he had seriously considered having a go with her. Honestly, he was still thinking about it. Kochan imagined that her lips were plump, pink, and tasted like cherries, but he was shaken from his thoughts by a moving shadow. Out of the darkness emerged a boy clad in red and yellow. On his back he carried a quiver of assorted arrows and in his left hand he clutched a bow. Covering his eyes was a domino mask and his red hair whipped around in the night air.

Kochan wanted to praise God, Allah, Buddha, Krishna, or any other heavenly figure who may have been listening at that time. It was Speedy! But what the hell was Green Arrow's sidekick doing in Metropolis? Wheels decided it didn't matter, as long as he was there. Swallowing hard, he let his eyes slip back to Cheshire's face. He couldn't call out to Speedy for fear of her finding out that relief had come. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and fell down his face like raindrops. Speedy remained where he stood, only moving to cross his arms over his chest. For the first time Kochan realized that Speedy's mouth was pulled back in a snarl and his masked eyes were narrowed into slits. All of the young archer's hatred and anger was directed in a concentrated beam right at Kochan. Wincing slightly, he cowered away from Speedy's gaze.

"How did you find me?" he whimpered.

"With you parading around telling everyone of your success, how could we have not found you?" Speedy spat.

"Success?"

"You drove Deathstroke."

Wheels tried to keep his face as straight as possible. "What's it to you?"

Quietly, Speedy slipped an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. Raising his bow, he pointed it at Kochan. "The JLA has been after him for a number of months now. For eight, he has disappeared off the radar. You are out only connection to him."

He smiled. "Then it seems you need me alive. I might be able to give you the information you need, but it will come at a price."

Speedy lowered his bow. "What do you want?"

"Immunity."

"Granted," Cheshire said before Speedy could refuse.

The criminal eyed them. "That doesn't seem like enough. Deathstroke is dangerous, he'll have me killed if he knows that I ratted him out. So, what's in it for me?"

Speedy's mouth opened, but he closed it quietly. Turning his head skyward, he rubbed his chin in thoughts. Cheshire, however, was not amused. The situation had turned around fast and she did not like it one bit. He was playing them like a record. Kochan pushed past her and sauntered towards Speedy, who was still deep in thought. The greasy man crossed his arms over his large gut and turned smiling to Cheshire. He beckoned to her to come to him and she reluctantly did so. For a moment they stood side-by-side, watching the archer. Then Cheshire felt a slight pinch to her backside. Whirling around faster than the speed of light, she slapped him with enough force to cross his eyes. Three long deep scratches appeared on the right side of his face and immediately began to ooze droplets of blood. Clapping a hand to his face, he cried out in pain. Cheshire seized Kochan by the front of his wife beater and pushed him to the ground. Standing over him, she removed a vial from her sleeve and held it up for him to see.

"You will cooperate now, and expect nothing in return," Cheshire demanded. "My nails are laced with poison; in my hands I hold the antidote. It is your choice: talk or die."

Kochan gulped. "You're bluffing."

"You know I'm not, but it is your life, which is hardly my concern." She made a move to toss the vial off the roof.

"No!" he yelled. "Uncle! I give!"

Cheshire knelt down and squeezed his fat hairy face in her hand. "Tell us all you know about Deathstroke."

Kochan nodded. "I picked him up from the docks sometime after noon. He flew in a helicopter. Killed the pilot, he did. I didn't bother him none 'cause I prefer my head on my shoulders. Anyways, I got the call 'bout three days in advance. He was using the name William Riker, but I knew it was Deathstroke right away. Been following him for years, he's probably the biggest baddie out there. Well, I drove him to the Hampton and haven't seen him since. That was probably less than two days ago."

Speedy looked up. "Was there anyone with him?"

"What?"

He repeated himself, slightly irritated. "Was anyone with Deathstroke?"

Kochan thought for a second. "There was a kid with him. Seemed decent, didn't talk much. 'Bout your age, maybe younger. Dark hair, bit on the scrawny side. Had a shitty haircut."

_Definitely Dick, _Speedy thought.

Speedy felt his heart leap for joy. The sleazeball had confirmed that his friend was alive. After months of search, they had finally found him. They were _so close. _Shifting his eyes to the starlit sky, he wondered if Dick too was scanning the stars for constellations at the same exact moment. Every inch of Speedy's skin tingled like he had been dipped in a salt bath. They were in the same city! At the same exact time! Even though Roy and Dick had practically grown up together, the archer had never felt more close to the acrobat. This was it, he was going to get his friend back. He couldn't wait to see the Leaguers' faces when he showed with Dick on his arm. Two cities, nearly eight months, and there he was, in a chain hotel in Metropolis. All Deathstroke had to do was slip up once, and then they were on him like a rabid dog.

Before Speedy knew it, he had an arrow out of his quiver and he shot a steel line across the street. Slinging his bow over the cable, he jumped up and began to slide towards the ground with his legs out in front of him. Tucking himself into a ball, he let go with one hand and descended to the pavement. Upon connecting with the ground, he rolled to his feet. With his bow still clutched in his hand, Speedy dashed down the street, not once looking back. His heart pounded against the prison cell known as his ribcage and blood swished in his ears. Speedy was lost to the world. Had an explosion gone off at that point and time, he would not have known. He was solely focused on finding his lost friend, his little brother. He was nearly weeping for joy at how close he was to rescuing the lost hero. More than anything, he wanted to jump in the air and click his heels in a bellhop, but he wasn't coordinated enough. So, he settled on laughing.

Dashing down a backstreet, Speedy gazed around, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Tourist shops lined the sidewalks and all the lights that illuminated the road. However the lights were not necessary, for the full moon produced enough light for perfect visibility. Not a soul was in sight; the city looked like a ghost town. Where was everyone? Speedy didn't give himself time to elaborate. Instead, he brushed the thought off and swung left into an empty alley. Turning his head to look behind him, Speedy did not see Cheshire or anyone else following him. But then again, if Cheshire _had _decided to follow, he had no way of knowing. She was a ninja after all, nothing more than a shadow. God, he loved her. It was so wrong, but in the same moment, so right. They were like a modern day Romeo and Juliet. The Capulets and the Montagues, hopefully without all the dying. She was his drug. Speedy frowned as his mind suddenly changedto the topic of drugs. He had nearly had a relapse two weeks back. Luckily, Cheshire had been there to save him from himself.

Slowing to a stop, Speedy found himself in front of a Hampton hotel. That street, like the last, had also been empty. Craning his neck backwards, his masked eyes scanned every lit window that stretched toward the stars. It was not as if he would see Dick, although the fantasy part of his mind told him he would. His heart raced, and Speedy felt a feeling in his chest unlike any other. He could not identify it. Hope, happiness….fear? shaking off the thought, Speedy gazed through the glass of the revolving door where he saw a stern-looking, middle aged, black woman helping a late night visitor check in. Speedy's breath hitched in his throat as he reached a shaky hand forward to open the door. A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned around to see Jade standing behind him with her mask sitting on top of her head, and her lips pressed into a think line. Her dark eyes glittered like diamonds in the moonlight, and Speedy felt himself drawn to her. Twirling her hair in his fingers, he pulled Jade to him and began to smother her with hungry passionate kisses.

"We've found him!" he exclaimed.

Slowly, Jade began to shake her head. "Not yet. This is only one of three Hampton's in Metropolis. Robin could be in any one of them. You really need to work on your patience. I managed to get Kochan to spit out a few more facts before I gave him the cure."

"What did he say?"

"Did you even notice how empty the city is?" Jade asked. "Apparently, last night there was an explosion downtown that killed at least eight people. Some think it was Luthor, but he has a rock solid alibi, and he's under watch. Kochan informed me that while in the car, Deathstroke and Robin discussed that they had a meeting with Lex Luthor."

"Do you think it's connected?"

"I don't believe in coincidences."

Speedy gazed at the building. "We know the name: William Riker. We could find him by the end of the night, and we could save him."

Jade pressed her body against his. Tilting her head, she whispered in his ear. "Do you really think we stand a chance against Deathstroke? I say our best chance is alerting the League and letting them take care of him. He has waited seven and a half months, he can wait one more night."

"One more day?"

"One day more," she agreed.

* * *

_Because of that last line, I've been singing Les Mis since I finished typing this...I feel like Charlie did this on purpose. Anyway, I must be off...I'm gonna go watch Supernatural until my eyes bleed (or until I'm curled up in a corner crying)._


	32. One Day Wasted

_I really wanted to update this last week, since the 5th was the 1 year anniversary of the first chapter of Into the Darkness being posted, but it unfortunately just didn't happen. And since this story has been around for a year, I just wanted to say thank you to all of who have stuck with this story for the last year, despite my inability to update regularly. Seriously, I know how it feels to find a fic, and quickly realize it doesn't get updated regularly, and I feel really bad for doing the same thing to you guys._

* * *

Bruce's heart was heavy as he clutched a red t-shirt in his fist. His heart beat to the rhythm of a broken father. It was slow and steady like a beating drum, but it ached with every pulse. His eyes would have been wet with tears had he not already shed all of them. The shirt belonged to a boy who seemed like nothing more than a dream in everyone's eyes. He was like the fall leaf on a winter breeze carried off into the distance, never to be seen again. Sucking in a deep breath, Batman removed a plastic evidence bag from his utility belt and placed the shirt inside. The amount of sorrow filling his body was unfathomable; he had never felt so much sadness in his life, not even when his parents had died. In a way, losing his son was far worse. There was a big stone of grief that sat heavily in his stomach, and made it hard to feel much of anything else. It was a neverending pain that went on forever.

The room was empty. Well, that was not true. The room had objects in it, but it was void of life. The large beds were unkempt and every once in a while, Batman would find an article of clothing littering the floor. Ruffling through the dresser, he had found a week's worth of clothes for a large man and a small boy. Among the clothes, Batman had found a Glock 18 and a thousand dollars in emergency cash. It became apparent that whoever had been there had left in a hurry, leaving the hotel room abandoned. No, not whoever, Bruce knew that it had been Deathstroke and Dick. Though he could not figure out why they had left in such a rush. Had Deathstroke known that they were coming? If so, then how? Had he been tipped off? Batman didn't know, but he intended to find out. The case had been a dead end until Speedy had come out of nowhere, reporting a Deathstroke sighting in Metropolis.

Silently, Batman thanked God that the maids had yet to clean the room. It made his job a little bit easier. Jason had wanted to tag along in the investigation, but Bruce had refused, for he was unsure of what they would find. Besides, the boy was not interested in finding Dick; he just wanted some action. Jason had been irritable the last week or so because his patience was wearing thin. Batman was beginning to think that by taking the boy on as Robin, he had made a huge mistake. He had seen all of the problems it had created for him and Dick; who's to say the same wouldn't happen for him and Jason? The boy had become irritable and restless, insisting that he was good enough to take on someone higher ranked than a conman. Jason was cocky, just as Dick had been when he had started out as Robin, but the Gotham streets had beat it out of him. Bruce did not intend to let Jason learn his lessons the same way Dick did.

Moving towards the small bathroom, Bruce flicked off the light switch and closed the door behind him. Standing in the dark, he removed an object from his belt. Though he could not see it, he knew it looked like a small bottle of perfume. Batman pressed down on the pump, spraying the colorless liquid into the air. Directing the mist towards where the sink and counter would be, he sprayed some more before putting the bottle back into a pouch of his belt. He silently turned on the black light in hi mask, and the lens was filled with a purple light. Batman shifted his eyes to the sink where he found black dots littering the white surface. The black smudges swirled down the drain in a circular pattern. Either someone had had a really bad nosebleed, or someone had washed blood from their hands. Batman didn't think it was the first, but he kept his mind open; with Deathstroke, he could never be sure.

Batman switched off the black light and turned on the overhead lights. Opening the door, he stepped out of the bathroom and back into the main room. The sun was high in the cloudless blue sky outside and the air was humid. It would have been a perfect day had he not been so worried over Dick. In all truth, not one day had gone by that he had not worried about the safety of the boy who was like a son to him. The media had been pursuing Bruce Wayne about the whereabouts of Dick Grayson for quite some time. They wanted to know where he was receiving treatment, what was wrong with him, and if he was getting any better. As if they really cared. Bruce had decided that the public wasn't ready for Jason and vice versa. He was afraid that they would tear the poor boy apart to get a good dish. It was best to wait until after Dick returned from his "trip" to announce that Bruce Wayne had taken in a street kid.

Moving towards the window, Batman found himself bathed in sunlight. It was one of the rare times he could be seen during the day. He would do anything for Dick. Near the window was a small blue trash can, in which Batman found a half eaten apple. The inside had turned a slight brown from the time it had spent in the garbage. Reaching a gloved hand in, he pulled out the apple and placed it in another evidence bag. The fruit would provide good dental records to prove that dick had been there, though Batman was positive that he had been. A strange sound reached his ears. Furrowing his brow, Batman walked to the unmade beds and knelt before them. Pressing his face to the floor, Batman lifted the sheet and peered under the bed. His eyes widened when he saw red numbers counting down staring back at him. It was a low powered explosive with only five seconds left. Climbing to his feet, Batman ran towards the door, but it was of no use.

The bomb went off and Batman barely had time to pull his cape around himself before an explosion racked the room. Luckily his cape had protected him from the initial blast and shrapnel, but it did not stop him from flying into the wall. Batman's eyes fluttered open to see the room completely torn apart. Both beds were overturned; one mattress was against the wall, while the other was burnt beyond recognition. The TV had fallen off the dresser that had had all its drawers blown out, and it lay shattered on the blackened floor. The end table between the beds had been blown to smithereens as well, and lay in various spots around the room. Beside him he found a Bible and a copy of _Les Miserables _that looked mostly unharmed. Unfortunately, he had landed on the apple, successfully squishing it. Batman swore under his breath. Dental records were most definitely out of the question.

With a groan, he sat up and blinked purple stars from his eyes. He felt rather woozy and his head gave a painful throb. Climbing to his feet, Batman leaned against the wall for support and checked himself over. He had a cut that oozed blood on his right cheek from a flying piece of shrapnel, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. It was hardly a scratch. The back of his head was in far worse shape; he could feel the sticky blood fusing his cowl and hair into one slick, wet mess. At the same time, he knew that wound wasn't all that serious. It hurt like a bugger, that was for sure, but it only appeared bad. At most, he only had a concussion. The bomb wasn't meant to take down the whole hotel, only to kill whatever poor soul was in the room with shrapnel. Luckily, Batman had had his cape. He didn't want to think what would have happened if somebody else had been in the room.

The door flew open and a red and yellow blur streaked in. Batman resisted the urge to groan when he was hoisted up the rest of the way by means of being picked up under his armpits. Standing among the wreckage in the center of the room was the Flash and Kid Flash. The Flash had a cocky grin plastered on his face as he scanned the room and Kid Flash ran around flipping things over, looking for nothing in particular. Batman would have honestly preferred if Superman had gotten to him first, but as his luck turned out, as it so often did, the Flashes were there instead. His aching head throbbed, but he ignored it. Focusing his attention on the speedsters, he saw his worst nightmare come to life before his eyes; there were more than two of them. Batman blinked his eyes rapidly to find that it was just his head playing tricks on him.

"Did you get mad, Bruce?" Flash asked, examining the room. He frowned. "Are you okay?"

Batman only grunted in response.

Barry sped to his side. "Let me see your eyes, I need to check for a concussion."

The speedster reached up to remove Batman's cowl, but quicker than he could move he found his wrist encircled in a black gloved fist. After a moment of tense silence, Batman released the Flash's hand and the man laughed nervously before he sped to the other side of the room and joined his nephew, who watched in stunned silence. The tension in the air was so thick that it could have been cut by a knife. For a while, they just stood there with Bruce glaring at Barry, and the red clad man trying to avoid his eyes by looking anywhere but a him. Fortunately Superman entered a few moments later, causing some of the tension to dissipate. In fact, the whole room seemed to sigh with relief. After a quick examination, Clark confirmed that Bruce indeed had a concussion. Batman waved the discovery off, more concerned about the information the others had found out.

Clark sighed. "The woman at the desk confirmed that William T. Riker had indeed checked in with his son."

Batman cringed at that. Superman handed over a folder full of papers that recorded all of Deathstroke's information.

"She said they did not check out, which means they must have left without a warning. No one saw them leave. She also said that she didn't like the boy from the start. It looked like he had been in one too many street fights." Superman paused and eyed Batman warily, then continued. "She told me that the last time she saw them, Riker was practically carrying the boy back to their room. He had been disoriented and mumbling to himself, and he appeared injured."

"Anything else?" Batman growled.

"No."

He turned to the speedsters , who were empty handed. "What did _you _find?"

Flash shifted nervously from foot to foot. "There was no helicopter at the docks, but we did find police tape. After visiting the docks, we stopped by the police station-"

"Were you seen?" Clark interrupted.

"No, we were in and out before anyone saw us. Anyway, we found some profiles on the eight dead guys from the exploded building and we found one on the pilot of the helicopter. Guy's name was Henry Howe; he was a Vietnam veteran. The dead guys from the explosion were mostly normal family men. The only thing any of them had in common was that each had lost someone in Luthor's last rampage. Well, a couple were high school dropouts. The ring leader was Gaius Baltar, who is an almost completely unknown crime boss.

Bruce sighed. It was obvious that Deathstroke had taken Dick and the helicopter. Silently he scolded himself for jumping to conclusions so quickly. He didn't even know if Dick and Deathstroke had been there; he had no physical proof. All they had to go on was the word of a distraught teenager who had lost his best friend. Batman's frown deepened, if that was even possible. It seemed Speedy knew the right place and time for everything. How was it that an unsupervised teenage boy knew more than the Justice League? Batman made a mental note to speak with the archer about where he got his information. For the first time, he realized how distant Roy had been. Was it possible that he was just upset over Dick's disappearance, or was there something even bigger going on? One thing was for sure: the archer was hiding something from them. Maybe he would talk to Ollie before he confronted the boy, but he and Green Arrow weren't exactly on good terms. Nevertheless, he would find out.

Batman quickly retold what he had found, from the clothes in the drawer to the bomb under the bed. Despite all of their research, they had come up with nothing. They were completely empty handed. Even if Deathstroke was the cause of the League's current struggle, they couldn't pin everything on him. Batman's mind flew through all the possibilities linking the villain to the crime. His most logical answer was that the group of men that had been killed were out to get revenge on Luthor for what he did to their families. If that were true, then it was only logical that Lex would want to protect himself, but it was blatantly obvious that he would not ask Superman for help to protect his pride. As for the pilot, he was probably killed to keep quiet. However, it seemed somebody had leaked along the way and that information had gotten to Speedy. This was all assuming Deathstroke had been there.

Batman relayed his theory to the others. Both superman and Flash agreed that it was logical, if Deathstroke had been present at the time. Kid Flash was paying the three adults no mind; instead, he gazed out the window and wondered where the hell Dick could be. While the others remained skeptical, he believed with all his heart that Dick had been there. Kid Flash trusted Roy with his life. Why would the archer lie about something as important as that? The point was, he wouldn't. Pushing away from the windowsill, he wheeled around to find the three adults discussing ways Deathstroke could and could not be involved. For a moment he considered calling up the Titans and telling them of the breakthrough, but that would break his vow to protect them that he had made to himself.

"It's a big city," Kid Flash said, speaking for the first time. "Someone was bound to have seen him."

Clark seemed troubled by that remark. "I think I can provide us with some more information, but it might just be a waste of time."

Batman shook his head. "This has been a dead end case until recently. Any information we can get our hands on would be helpful."

"Don't you want to get your head patched up first?" Superman asked.

"What I want is to find Dick."

Clark sighed. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to get Lois involved in this. It's the end of the work day, and I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate us stopping by her apartment. Meet me at the Daily Planet."

With that, Superman took off, leaving the other three heroes alone in the trashed hotel room. They stood there quietly for a few moments, not quite sure what had happened. Batman was the first to move. Navigating his way through the wreckage, he ignored his ever growing headache and walked to the window. Opening the hatch, he let the glass panels swing outward. For a second he let the warm air press against his body, but then he pulled his grappling hook out and prepared to shoot. Before he ever got the chance, he was grabbed under the arms and pulled away from the window. Laughter reached his ears and the world was a blur in his eyes. The next thing he knew he was standing in the office of the Daily Planet. Traveling at super speed did nothing for his concussion. The two speedsters just grinned cheekily at him.

They found Superman standing in the middle of the empty office glancing worriedly towards a cubicle. Quietly he warned them that Lois may not be all that happy to see them, and right he was. They found her in the cubicle shifting through some last minute papers with her back turned to them. She wore a grey suit with a pink blouse beneath her overcoat. A string of elegant pearls hung around her neck and sitting on the bridge of her nose was a pair of reading glasses. She wore her silky black hair down, and she appeared irritated as if she couldn't find whatever it was she was looking for. Lois turned around and nearly dropped all of her papers when she found the four of them standing there. Composing herself, she tugged at her shirt and put on a smile, acting like she was happy to see them, with the exception of Superman, who she was always happy to see.

"Can I help you boys?" Lois asked politely.

Superman stepped forward. "We would like some information on a person you met."

Lois frowned, and her nose crinkled slightly. "I meet a lot of people, you're going to have to be more specific than that. A name would be nice."

Superman opened his mouth to speak, but Batman interjected. "Fredrick Loyd."

Her eyes flashed with recognition. "What about him?"

"When and where you met him, and what you talked about."

"Oh God, is he dead?"

Lois's face crumbled, but she did not cry. Her shoulders shook and she glanced at each of them fearfully. Wordlessly, Clark stepped forward and gave her arm a gentle squeeze before leading her to her chair where she sat down. Barry shot Batman a confused glance; who in the world was Fredrick Loyd? What did he have to do with Dick or Deathstroke? Barry honestly didn't know. It seemed Wally not Clark knew what the hell was going on either, but they waited patiently, knowing Batman always had a motive. Even if Lois was not crying, she was choked up, and Batman assured her that Fredrick was not dead, at least to his knowledge. At that, Lois calmed herself.

"I met him at about this time two days ago, right outside of this building. He seemed like a nice kid. I quite literally ran into him. He even helped me pick up my papers."

"What did he look like?" Flash asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Lois thought for a moment. "He was skinny, but had a lot of muscle. Very handsome for a teenager. He had a terrible haircut though, and he honestly looked like he had been plucked from the street. But he was very kind."

Lois suddenly stood up from her seat and ran out of the cubicle. Stunned, the heroes walked back into the open office where they saw her disappear into another cubicle Clark recognized as Jimmy Olsen's. A moment later she swung around the corner with several photographs clutched in her hand. She gingerly handed several to each hero. Kid Flash was stunned as he looked at his first photo. In the picture, his eyes were immediately drawn to a black haired teenage boy who was picking up papers while smiling at Lois. Wally's whole body tingled with excitement, and he really thought he would sink through the floor. It was Dick! Passing off his photos to his uncle, he took the ones Clark had and inspected them. Going through every picture he found none of them had a clear view of his face.

"We talked briefly, he complimented me on my appearance," Lois recalled. "Said he was a fan of mine. Come to think of it, he was really interested in my article on the Grayson boy from Gotham, wanted to know how he was doing. But you know Mr. Wayne, he keeps himself to himself. We didn't get to talk long, his father came looking for him."

Batman's heart skipped a beat. "Can you point him out in any of these pictures?"

"I'm afraid Jimmy quit taking picture by then." She eyed him suspiciously. "What is this about?"

"We have reason to believe Loyd was kidnapped by the man who was posing as his father."

She gasped. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Superman beat Batman to the punch. "Keep this on the down low for yours and his safety."

"Can you identify the man?" Batman asked.

"No. I didn't recognize him if that's what you're asking. He _was _scary looking though. He had an eye patch and grey hair."

Batman frowned. In his hands, he held proof that Dick was still alive, yet they were no closer to finding him. Once again he and Deathstroke had dropped off the face of the earth. But if what Lois had said was true, then they knew Dick had access to newspapers. All it would take was a journalist to be able to send him a message.

* * *

_Since Clark and Lois are featured in this chapter, I figured I had an excuse to talk about Man of Steel. So, how many of you guys are planning to see it? I unfortunately will most likely not be seeing it opening weekend, but after that, I would seriously love to talk about it with people. Also, I'm actually really pumped for the movie...hopefully DC will finally release a decent superhero movie (not that I don't like the Dark Knight trilogy, but I have my problems with it, which I will not discuss)._


End file.
